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'Deniiorii 'Royalty Rlays 


Too Ottanij 
Crooks 


"Paul Treater Temple 


*77 S.'Denison & Company 
‘Publishers • Chicago 
Price 50 Cents 










Denison*s Royalty Plays 

AND HOME CAME TED 

By Walter Ben Hare. Comedy in 3 acts; 6 males, 6 fe¬ 
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ASSISTED BY SADIE 

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BETTY’S LAST BET 

By Edith Eliis. Farce-comedy in 3 acts; 5 males, 6 fe¬ 
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FOR THE LOVE OF JOHNNY 

By Harry Hamilton. Play in 3 acts; 6 females, 3 fe¬ 
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Time, 25 minutes. Royalty, five dollars. Price, 35 Cents. 

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By Georgia Earle. Comedy in 1 act; 2 males, 2 females. 
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CASELDA COMES HOME 

By Fanny Cannon. Comedy in 3 acts; 5 males, 8 fe¬ 
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WHEN SMITH STEPPED OUT 

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WHOSE LITTLE BRIDE ARE YOU? 

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623 S. Wabash AVe. CHICAGO 

















/i?3> 


TOO MANY CROOKS 








TOO MANY CROOKS 

A Comedy in Three Acts 


BY 

PAUL PRESTER TEMPLE 



CHICAGO 

T. S. DENISON & COMPANY 
Publishers 









HE ACTING RIGHTS of this play, 
under whatever title performed, are 
fully protected by author’s and publish¬ 
er’s rights and copyright, and all in¬ 
fringements will be prosecuted. 

For AMATEUR presentation, whether admis¬ 
sion is charged or not, a royalty fee of fifteen 
($15.00) dollars for each performance must be paid 
in advance to the publishers, T. S. Denison & 
Company, 623 S. Wabash Avenue, Chicago, Ill. 

For PROFESSIONAL terms, apply to the pub¬ 
lishers. 

The purchase or possession of this book conveys no ri&ht 
whatever for the performance of the play, public or private, 
for &ain or for charity. Performance of any nature is strict¬ 
ly forbidden, under full protection of the Copyright Law, 
unless duly licensed by the copyright owner or his author¬ 
ized a&ents. Violations of the Copyright Law are punish¬ 
able by fine, or imprisonment, or both, and anyone partici¬ 
pating in an unauthorized performance is guilty of infringe¬ 
ment. The play may be presented by amateurs upon pay¬ 
ment of the stated royalty in advance to the Publishers for 
each performance, whose royalty receipt serves as a per¬ 
forming license. The following notice must appear on all 
programs: “Produced by special arrangement with T. S. 
Denison & Company of Chicago.” 

COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY T. S. DENISON & COMPANY 

MADE IN U. S. A. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


Too Many Crooks 


©CIO 65855 
OCT 2^ 1923 








TOO MANY CROOKS 

The Rt. Rey. Manfred Chadsey, D.D., LL.D. 
_ 

CHARACTERS. 

/<? Z. 3 

The Rt. Rev. Manfred Chadsey, D.D., LL.D. 

. The Bishop 

Ned Sheldon . His nephew 

Rafford . The man-of-all-work 

Locke . The constable 

Miss Tate . A neighbor 

Kitty Penrose . Her niece 

Mrs. Chadsey ... The bishop's wife 

Jenny . The maid 


Place —A country town in Connecticut. 


Time —The present . 


Time of Playing —About two hours. 


SYNOPSIS OF ACTS. 

Act I. Morning room in the bishop's home. 

Act II. The same scene; that evening. 

Act III. Living room in Miss Tate's bungalow; 
later in the evening. 


5 















6 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


COSTUMES. 

The costumes and characteristics of the respective 
persons in the play are indicated in the text. The 
period represented is that of the present day, so 
everything should be modern. Details of costumes 
are immaterial, so long as they are consistent with 
the characters represented. 


PERSONAL PROPERTIES. 

Bishop —Desk key; several other keys; pocket 
knife; telegram. 

Ned—P air of muddy shoes ; cigar; matches. 

Rafford —Pair of muddy shoes; emerald neck¬ 
lace in red leather case; tray of food and dishes; 
piece of wire. 

Locke —Pair of muddy shoes; warrant. 

Miss Tate —Handkerchiefbunch of keys. 

Jenny —Dust pan and broom. 

Manuscript in desk drawer. Pad and pencil on 
desk. 




TOO MANY CROOKS 


7 


STAGE PLOT. 

Acts I and II. 

AUTUMN LANDSCAPE 


PIA7ZA 



Act III. 



STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

Up stage means away from footlights ; down stage, 
near footlights. In the use of right and left, the 
actor is supposed to be facing the audience. 




































































. 























































































































































































TOO MANY CROOKS 


First Act. 

Scene : Morning room of Bishop Chadsey’s coun¬ 
try home, with substantial furnishings for permanent 
residence. In the rear wall are two large windows, 
opening to the floor, which lead to the piazza and the 
garden. There is a view of Autumn-tinged trees in 
the background. The windows have sliding curtains. 
Between the windows is a large hat tree on which are 
hung several hats, coats, walking sticks, etc. A door 
in the right wall, up stage, leads to the kitchen, and a 
door in the left wall, down stage, leads to the rest of 
the house. In the right wall, down stage, is a large 
fireplace, with a low fire burning. Before the fire is a 
large easy chair, and upon it an ample black over¬ 
coat is spread out to dry before the fire. On the 
hearth beside the chair is a pair of very muddy shoes. 
A little left of center is a large breakfast table with 
five chairs. A sideboard, with dishes, stands against 
the rear wall between the windows. Down left is a 
substantial writing desk, with chair, so placed that 
the desk drawers are toward the audience. Up left in 
the corner is a piano with stool. There is a push¬ 
button in the left wall. Other furniture and decora¬ 
tions are in keeping with the atmosphere. 

When the curtain rises the light is subdued. The 
heavy curtains on the windows are closed, and a glow 
comes from the fireplace. It is early morning. 

Mrs. Chadsey enters from left door. She is a 
small, delicate, nervous woman of refinement, about 
9 



10 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


fifty years old. She is dressed plainly , hut in good 
taste. She looks about inquiringly and then presses 
push-button in left mall. Bell is heard to ring off 
right. She goes to left window and throws back the 
curtains , and the room grows lighter. 

Jenny enters from right door. She wears maid’s 
attire , but her hair and dress indicate plainly that she 
has not “got herself up” for the day. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

(Greeting Jenny as she enters.) 

Good-morning, Jenny. 

Jenny. 

(Tying her apron.) 

Good-morning, ma’am. Sorry I’m late, ma’am, but 
I didn’t have a wink of sleep all night. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Nobody could sleep in such a thunderstorm. 

( Anxiously .) Did you happen to hear the bishop 

come in ? T 

Jenny. 

Yes, ma’am; somewhere about two o’clock. (She 
goes and throws back the curtains of the right win¬ 
dow. The stage is now fully lighted.) 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

I must have dropped asleep when he came in. Poor 
man, I think I will let him sleep. Keep the breakfast 
back for an hour. (As she says this she has arrived at 
the chair by fireplace , and sees the coat and shoes. 
She feels of coat.) His overcoat. Soaking wet. 
{Points to shoes.) And his shoes. Look at the mud. 
Take them to the kitchen, Jenny. (Jenny picks up 
shoes and is about to take the coat. Mrs. Chadsey 
checks her.) No, you may leave the coat. That will 
dry Very nicely. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


11 


Jenny. 

(Puts her hand on coat.) 

What a wetting the bishop must have got. 

(While they are talking , with their backs to the 
right window —) 

Ned Sheldon, with a pair of muddy shoes in his 
hand , enters the window part way. Seeing them , he 
draws back out of sight. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

(Anxiously .) 

I’d no idea of it. I do hope he’ll not be ill. He’s 
not very strong. I’ll go at once and look after him. 
(She goes hastily out , left. Jenny goes out at 
kitchen door , then comes back with broom and pan 
and begins to sweep up mud tracks between window 
cmd chair.) 


Ned enters right window with muddy shoes in his 

hand. He looks about inquiringly , and is coming 

down stage when Jenny, startled , looks up and sees 

him. T 

Jenny. 

Oh, Mr. Ned! How you frightened me. (She 

stands.) XT 

1 Ned. 

(He looks rumpled and weary.) 

Hello, Jenny. Good-morning. (Shows some em¬ 
barrassment. ) What a night! 


Jenny. 

Wasn’t it awful? The poor bishop never got home 
till two o’clock. (She goes and sets broom and pan 
outside door, right.) n ed 

The bishop? Oh, yes. I remember. He was to get 
back late from the city. He must have got lost in the 



12 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


woods as I did. Such a storm; black as night. And 
the rain—phew! Torrents! ( Suddenly changes to 
anxious inquiry.) Where’s Rafford? 

Jenny. 

(Stiffens up , as with a grievance.) 

Out all night. Not home yet. I ain’t seen him. 
When I do, he’ll catch it. 

Ned. 

{Inquiringly and with surprise.) 

Sure he isn’t home? Perhaps he came in while you 

were asleep. T 

1 Jenny. 

{Sharply.) 

Not much. {She shows signs of crying.) Oh, Mr. 
Ned, if he should go back again to his old trade! 

Ned. 

{Agitated in his turn.) 

Burglary?. Nonsense. Rafford will never burgle 
any rftore. I’ll stake my life on it. He’s the model 
character of the settlement house. 

Jenny. 

I can’t forget the old days. He was a bad ’un. It 
’d break my heart if he should go crooked again. I 
didn’t like his looks when he went out. He’d the same 
bulldog face on him he used to have when he was 
going out on a “big job.” 

Ned. 

{Laughs nervously , hut assumes a confident air.) 

Oh, nonsense. Rafford’s all right. {Goes towards 
door , left.) But I must get cleaned up a bit. Tel] 
me the moment he comes in. 

Jenny. 


Yes, sir. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


13 


Ned. 

(Starts to go out, left; then turns hack.) 

Oh, by the way, I wouldn’t speak about Rafford’s 
being out all night. (Indicating the rest of the house¬ 
hold.) They might not understand. 

While they are talking, Rafford, with a pair of 
muddy shoes in his hand, comes to window, right, 
looks in, then draws hack. 

Jenny. 

All right, Mr. Ned. The breakfast’ll be late on 
account of the bishop. 

Ned. 

Very well. (He goes out, left. Jenny goes over 
left, then to sideboard, takes up some dishes, comes 
to table.) 

Rafford enters from right window, at first unseen 
by her, and is stealing out toward kitchen door, up 
right, when Jenny turns and catches sight of him. 

Jenny. 

(Speaks sharply and bangs the dishes on the table 
for emphasis.) 

Well! So there you are! 

Rafford. 

{Turns, embarrassed; drops his shoes and stands 
with air of a criminal caught in the act.) 

Eh? Oh. {Pause.) Good-morning. 

Jenny. 

{Frigidly.) 

Good-morning i What you been doin’, out all 
night? Pick up them shoes. Gettin’ my floor all mud. 



14 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Rafford. 

{Picks up shoes , still embarrassed.) 

Oh. I went for a walk—caught in the storm. 

Jenny. 

( Contemptuously .) 

Caught in the storm! ( Goes up to him. They 
meet at center.) I should think so. ( Sarcastically .) 
“Went for a walk.” ( Talks fast , with indignation.) 
Look here, Mr. Percy Rafford. Have you been at it 
again? Have yer? ’Cause if that’s yer game, Til 
have nothin’ more to do with yer. After all Mr. Ned 
an’ th’ bishop have done for the two of us! ( Turns 
and goes on setting the table.) 

Rafford. 

Wait a minute. Let a man speak, can’t -yer? 
{Aggressively.) Why d’yer lock the back door? 

Jenny. 

’Cause I wanted to catch yer like this, sneakin’ in! 
Ain’t yer ashamed of yerself? Just when yer gets 
nicely reformed— {indicating the rest of the house¬ 
hold) what’ll they think of yer? ( Contemptuously.) 
Went for a walk, indeed! 

Rafford. 

{Growing angry.) 

My business is my business. I ain’t goin’ back to 
the old trade. Hear that? {Morosely.) Not if I 
ain’t drove back by you and yer suspicions. {Com- 
mandingly.) Where’s Mr. Ned, eh? Is he home? I 
want ter see him quick! 

Jenny. 

Yes, he’s home. But you go and get yourself 
ready to help with the breakfast. Humph! Nice pic¬ 
ture you are. Lucky for you everybody’s late this 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


15 


morning. (She flounces out at right. As she goes, 
Rafford moms after her.) 

Ned enters, left. 


Ned. 

{In cautious whisper.) 

Rafford! (Rafford turns and comes towards him. 
They meet at center.) 

Rafford. 

{In a hoarse whisper, emphatically, anxiously and 
mysteriously, looking about for listeners.) 
Where was yer, governor? 

Ned. 

Where was I? Where were you? 

Rafford. 

{Still in sharp whisper.) 

Huh! On the job, jest as yer told me. {In a 
grieved tone.) I never goes back on a pal. 

Ned. 

On the job? Where? 

Rafford. 

{In a tone of surprise, apostrophizing the world in 
general.) 

Huh! He says “Where?” Say, wasn’t you to be 
on hand when the trick was done? 


Ned. 

Yes, I was there, in the woods—at two o’clock. 

There was so much thunder and lightning I couldn’t 

hear or see a thing. I thought you’d given it up. I 

got lost in the woods on the way home, and only just 

got in. -p, 

° Rafford. 

Lost in the woods? I should think so. So was I. 



16 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


(Looking round apprehensively.) So was others 
beside us. {In a tone of contempt.) That fat con¬ 
stable, Locke, for one. I had the devil’s own job ter 
dodge him and get home. 

Ned. 

{Laughs easily.) 

Well, never mind. We’ve got a wetting, that’s all. 
We’ll try it again some night before long. 


Rafford. 

{In anxious puzzlement.) 

Try it again? Wot fer? Huh! Not I. Not if I 
gets out o’ this trap. {Looks anxiously round.) 

Ned. 

{Still amused at Rafford’s fears.) 

“Trap”? What trap? Don’t talk nonsense. You’ve 

lost your nerve. ^ 

J Rafford. 

( Growing sullen and a little insolent , deliberately sets 

down his muddy shoes and folds his arms.) 

Say, look here. Did you and me make a frame-up 

ter get Miss Tate’s emeralds, or didn’t we? 


Ned. 

{Still pleasantly.) 

Yes, Rafford, we did. And we’ll get them yet, if 
you don’t get chicken-hearted. {Turns away as if to 
dismiss him.) You’d better go and get cleaned up. 


Rafford. 

{Has drawn back in bewilderment , then renews the 
attack , now rather anxiously than insolently 
he speaks with emphasis.) 

Hold on. I says again—did you and me make a 
deal to get them jools over at Miss Tate’s bunga¬ 
low—and did we frame it up that when I’d pinched 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


17 


’em, you was ter rush up and nab me with the goods 
on? We was ter make a fake fight, wasn’t we? Shoot 
off a gun or two ? I was ter get away and beat it fer 
home. You was ter hand back the jools and get the 
credit of the rescue—you hopin’ ter get Miss Tate’s 
consent to marry Miss Kitty? Was that the game? 


Ned. 

(Still amused but a little nettled by Rafford’s per¬ 
sistency; he looks around anxiously while 
Rafford is speaking.) 

Yes, yes. That was the plan. But don’t tell every¬ 
body. The plan failed. Better luck next time, I say. 
That’s all there is of it. (He turns away as if to dis¬ 
miss the subject.) 

Rafford. 

(Silently and with determination , looking around 
for fear of witnesses , pulls out of his pocket a large , 
bright red case and opens it; speaks in a tense and 
half-threatening way.) 

Oh. That’s all there is of it, eh? Well how about 


these ? 


Ned. 


(Turns and sees the case and is utterly horrified; 
goes and hastily covers contents with his hands.) 
Good heavens! (Looks about apprehensively.) 
You haven’t got them? 


Rafford. 

Got ’em? I sh’d think I had. I never goes back on 
a pal. (Opens the case and shows gems.) Look at 
’em! (His eyes sparkle with old-time joy.) Ain’t 
they beauties? Worth a couple o’ thousand if a 

fent! Ned. 

(Is stupefied for a moment , then hastily recovers.) 
Good gracious, Rafford—this is awful! What on 



18 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


earth did you keep them for ? ( Paces up and down in 
agony.) You’ll land us both in prison! Manxman, 
what have you done? ( Clutches his hair desper¬ 
ately.) Oh, Kitty, Kitty! 

Rafford. 

(In indignant remonstrance.) 

Done? Huh! I done what yer told me. I never 
goes back on a pal. ( Begins and runs hastily and 
graphically through the action.) I goes to the 
bungalow. I waits till quarter of two. I gets in. 
(Contemptuously.) Them windows is dead easy— 
wouldn’t keep out a hungry cat. (As he goes on his 
professional pride gets the better of his fear and in¬ 
dignation and he describes the scene with great 
unction.) Here is the safe— (indicating a side of the 
wall) right in full sight. An infant in arms could 
find it. Huh! (Contemptuously.) One of these lady¬ 
like safes—with a combination as easy as a nickel-in- 
the-slot machine. I •has it open in five minutes. I 
pinches the emeralds-— (reassuringly) —not another 
thing in the safe, s’help me! Nbt a thing else. I 
closes *the safe again. Well. Then I goes to the win¬ 
dow and gives yer the whistle. I sees that my mask 
is all right and gets my gun ready fer the fake fight. 
Then I waits a minute ter give you time to come up. 
Then I rouses the ‘house—by rattling the winder an’ 
talkin’ gruff-like. (Laughs with grim glee.) Sure 
enough, in a minute or two in comes th’ old lady, 
Johnny on the spot. She yells out. I sees the young 
lady behind her in her nightie, an’— (resumes his in¬ 
dignant and injured manner). Well (shrugs his 
shoulders) nothin’ doin’. (Ironically.) Yer wasn’t? 
there! (Now hurries on.) Well, I waits on the piazza 
as long as I dares. Then I sees our little mellydrama 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


19 


is all off, an’ I hooks it to the woods. An’ lucky I 
did, fer I almost bumps into his nibs, the fat con¬ 
stable. 

Ned. 

( Who has listened with varying emotions.) 

Well {anxiously) ; what then? 

Rafford. 

(In deep disgust.) 

Why, then I slops round that blessed woods until 
daylight—lookin’ fer you, an’ dodgin’ th’ constable. 

Ned. 

(In despair.) 

Oh, what an infernal mess. What’s to be done now? 


Rafford. 

(Anxiously.) 

Yes. So I says. If we’re caught—you a settle¬ 
ment house worker, nevvy of a bishop, an’ me a re¬ 
formed cracksman a-hopin’ ter marry a respectable 
woman—here we are, caught with the goods. Well, 
it’s twenty years at hard, if it’s a day, fer the 

two of us. j 

Ned. 

(Agonized.) 

Don’t. Don’t, Rafford! You’re too horribly real¬ 
istic. I can’t stand it. Oh, why did I go into this 

crazy scheme? ^ 

J Rafford. 

Yes. That’s wot / says. Why did yer, if yer was 

goin’ back on yer pal? It’ll go hard with you. I’m 

an old hand—I kin put up with the jug—but I 

hates ter lose Jenny. (He begins to snivel. At this 

Ned gets bach his nerve a little.) 

Ned. 

Oh, well. We’re not caught yet. We’ll get out of 
it, somehow. At all events, you shan’t suffer. 



20 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Rafford. 

(Holds out the incriminating gems.) 

But what’ll we do with these? They can’t get us if 

they don’t find the goods. It’s a pity ter throw ’em 

away. ( Cunningly.) Say, I kin make a get-away 

with ’em, neat as a pin. Wot d’ye say? ( Starts 

toward window.) XT 

J Ned. 

{Hastily.) 

No, no! (Sharply.) Here, give them to me. (He 
takes them.) Go and clean up. (Sees the muddy 
shoes as Rafford turns.) Here, take them away. 
Hurry, now. You must serve at breakfast. (Rafford 
goes out door , right. Just as he is disappearing —) 
The sound of Kitty’s voice is heard on the piazza. 

Ned hastily conceals the case in his pocket. 

Kitty. 

(Back right , calls.) 

Ned, are you here? (Enters right window.) Oh, 
Ned! (She is out of breath.) So glad I found you. 
I came the moment I thought you’d be up. You’ll 
never guess what has happened. We’ve had a real 
burglary over at the bungalow. (She quite enjoys 
the excitement.) Gracious! You ought to hear 
aunty. She’s a nervous wreck. I got here first, so 
you wouldn’t think I was murdered. But aunty’s 
having the time of her life. She’s been cruising 
around the woods with that sleepy-headed constable 
for hours, hunting up mud-tracks. ( Laughs , then 
notices that Ned does not respond as he should ..) But 
you don’t seem at all interested. 

Ned. 

(Gathers himself together.) 

Oh, yes. I do. Yes, I do. But I was thinking— 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


21 


Kitty. 

(Poutingly indignant.) 

Thinking? Well! Here I am, just escaped from 
the arms of a great big terrible burglar—( stamps 
her foot pettishly). I came to be comforted. ( She 
looks up shyly. He takes her in his arms and kisses 
her.) There. That’s what I expected. Now let me 
tell you all about it. When aunty arrives I won’t 
get a word in edgewise. 

Ned. 

(Leads her down stage.) 

There, there. Don’t get so excited— 

Kitty. 

I shall get excited. The idea! Do you suppose 
I’m going to make light of the only real excitement I 
ever had? ( Commandingly puts her hands over his 
mouth.) Now, you just listen. ( Hurries on breath¬ 
lessly.) You remember that emerald necklace of 
aunty’s? Well, it’s to be mine—when I’m engaged. 
( Laughs ruefully.) Or, rather, it was to be mine. 
Aunty brought it down here against her better judg¬ 
ment, so that I could wear it at the dance. Then she 
got frightened, and had a safe put in. Oh, such a 
darling of a safe, with a combination and all— 
(laughs ) only aunty can never remember the combi¬ 
nation. Well, the safe was put in. The emeralds were 
in it. Last night, during the thunderstorm— (Ned 
is abstractedly pacing up and down and looking ap¬ 
prehensively around. Kitty notices his abstraction.) 
But you’re not listening. 

Ned. 

Oh, yes, I am. I wish I weren’t. I see it all; your 
aunt fainting—you trying to revive her—the man 
escaping—oh! 



22 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Kitty. 

Yes! (Breathlessly rushing on.) And aunty was 

ever so long coming to. And then that old fool 

Locke, the constable, came— (Suddenly stops and 

thinks) —but how did you know so much about it? 

(Then pettishly playful , as she thinks he has only 

guessed at what he has pictured.) Humph! One 

would almost think it was your burglary instead of 

mine. XT 

Ned. 

(Who has grown gradually serious.) 

Well, so it is. (Turns and takes her in his arms.) 
Kitty, Kitty—can you ever forgive such a blunder¬ 
ing fool? But I meant it for the best. I really did! 

Kitty. 

( Bewildered.) 

Meant it for the best? What can you mean? 

Ned. 

Kitty, 1 planned the whole thing. 

Kitty. 

(In bewilderment.) 

Good heavens! Am I dreaming? Why—how— 

what for? XT 

Ned. 

To get you! I was desperate. I’ve been trying all 
summer to get your aunt’s consent to our engage¬ 
ment. I couldn’t go back to the city until I was 
sure of you. She wouldn’t listen to me. She thinks 
this settlement work that I’m doing is all rubbish; 
said she wanted a man who could “do things” for 
you. Then I heard of the safe and the emeralds and 
I made a plan with Rafford. He’s one of my re¬ 
formed characters—vised to be a burglar. He’ll do 
anything for me—because he wants to stay down 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


23 


here and marry Jenny. He was to rob the safe. I was 
to appear on the scene and rescue the emeralds. 
Rafford was to put up a fight, shoot off his pistol 
and escape. I was to say that I Was coming home 
late and saw the affair. Then I was to restore the 
emeralds, and so—( With gesture of despair.) 

Kitty. 

(Who has listened astonished and then delighted.) 

Oh! Oh!—( clapping her hands) how perfectly 
bully! It was simply great! ( Rushes up and kisses 
him , then draws hack.) But where were you? What 
became of the rescue? RafFord did his part. Where 
were you? 

J Ned. 

(Beating his brow.) 

Just what RafFord said. Only he said ( imitating 
Rafford) “Where was yer?” ( Gesture of despair.) 
I’m an idiot! A fool! Well, I ought to have taken a 
course in amateur cracksmanship. I wasn’t on hand. 
The thunderstorm came up. I was soaked to the skin 
and nearly frozen. I thought Rafford had given it 
up. I couldn’t hear anything but the thunder. The 
lightning blinded my eyes. I was thoroughly 
wretched and disgusted— 

Kitty. 

What did you do? 

Ned. 

Wandered about all night in the woods; crept 
home this morning. Found Rafford had done his 
part. He actually had the confounded emeralds, 
and—well, the fat is in the fire. ( Takes out the 
case of emeralds and waves it about.) Here are your 
emeralds. And I am an accomplice—a criminal. 
Rafford says we’ll get twenty years apiece. He’ll 



24 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


lose Jenny—and I’ll lose you! ( Thows himself in 
chair and clutches his hair.) 

Kitty. 

Well, this is a pretty muddle! ( Emphatically.) If 
aunty ever finds it out she’ll be frantic. She’ll never, 
never, never forgive you. Oh, oh, why did you do it? 

Ned. 

(Reproachfully and a little angrily.) 

Just a minute ago it was perfectly bully—great— 

and all that. ^ 

Kitty. 

{A little savagely.) 

Well, so it was. Only ( imitating Rafford) • 
“Where was- yer?” 

(Groans and writhes in distress.) 

Oh, don’t rub it in! 

Kitty. 

{In a panic.) 

But—good heavens!—aunty will be here in a 
minute. She must never know. Quick; give me those 
wretched emeralds! {He hands the case to her.) 
There must be some way out of it. {As she is speak- 
mg—) 

Locke, the constable, comes lumbering clumsily 
upon the piazza, looking round for footprints, and is 
seen through the right window. He has a pair of 
muddy shoes in his hand. He is a large, fat, red- 
faced, sleepy man, who suffers from asthma and has 
a peculiar grunting wheeze with which he punctu¬ 
ates his talk. Altogether he is the very opposite of 
a real detective—though he prides himself upon his 
slyness and softness of foot. He has an air of pro¬ 
fessional secrecy. Ned sees him. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


25 


Ned. 

{To Kitty, who conceals the case of emeralds behind 
her back.) 

Sh-hh! {Nods his head towards window.) 

Kitty. 

Locke! He mustn’t see them. {Tries first to put 
them in the neck of her dress; then makes an inef¬ 
fectual flutter as if for pocket in her dress.) Oh, 
for a pocket! What shall I do with them? 

Ned. 

( Whispers loudly .) 

Here. Give them to me. {As Kitty runs over near 
the fireplace.) Throw them into the fireplace. 

Kitty. 

{Who has got to the overcoat upon the chair.) 

This will have to do ! {She slips the case into the 
pocket of the overcoat just as Locke comes into the 
room through the right window.) 

Ned. 

{Aloud.) 

Come in, Locke. What’s up? You look mys¬ 
terious. 

Locke. 

{Advances into room with the muddy shoes in his 

hand.) 

Beg pardon, sir —{stops to wheeze). Been a rol> 
bery over to Miss Tate’s. ( Wheeze.) Found tracks 
in the woods. ( Wheeze.) Curious thing. Them foot¬ 
prints all lead to this house. ( Wheeze.) Took off 
my shoes {holding them up) so’s I could tell my own 
tracks. ( Wheeze .) Seen any suspicious characters 
round here? ( Wheeze .) 



26 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Kitty. 

( Nervously , trying to compose herself.) 

Why, Mr. Locke. In a bishop’s house! Aren’t you 
ashamed of yourself? I’ve just been telling Mr. 
Sheldon about^the robbery. 

Ned. 

(Trying to cover his confusion.) 

And she says that you acted with great bravery 
and presence of mind—after the thief had got away. 
Ha, ha! How about it, Locke? 

Locke. 

{With pompous and off ended dignity.) 

Huh! Don’t know ’bout no presence of mind; 
{wheeze) but I do know Miss Tate an’ me found 
plenty of tracks. {Wheeze.) An’ I do know all of 
’em leads to that there winder! ( Wheeze.) Sorry to 
suspect any one in th’ bishop’s house, but I’ve got 
ter do my duty— {wheeze). 

Ned. 

Right you are. Track the tracks. Don’t let the 
thief escape. 

Locke. 

I ain’t a-goin’ ter. Not if it incriminates th’ 
bishop himself. Another thing I know. This ain’t 
the work of no professional. He wouldn’t make no 
tracks {wheeze) —not if I knows my business 
{wheeze). {Grows confidential.) This here’s the work 
of an amatoor. He opens that safe of Miss Tate’s 
{wheeze). She seen him doin’ it. He must ’a’ had the 
combination. An’ then, so far as I can see, he makes 
straight fer this house. B.ut I’ll get him—no matter 
who he is! 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


27 


Kitty. 

( Nervously.) 

But there’s nobody up yet at this house, except 
Mr. Sheldon. You’d better come round again. 
(Flatteringly .) Nobody is likely to escape you , you 

know. T 

Locke. 

( With aggressive pomposity.) 

Not much. I don’t want ter be nasty about it. 
There’s plenty of time. ( He yawns broadly.) I got 
ter get a little sleep. I’ll look in later. ( Goes off 
wheezing and mumbling; just as he gets to the 
window —) 

Rafford, in sober black clothes, comes in from the 
kitchen with a tray of food and dishes. He nearly 
stumbles over Locke. They look at each other and 
Locke goes out the right window . Rafford goes 
to table and sideboard and lays out the breakfast. 

Ned. 

(Sidles up to Rafford, as Locke disappears.) 

All right, Rafford. (Pointing to Kitty.) I’ve 
told her. 

Rafford. 

(First rather puzzled and then reassured, comes down 
stage and is about to explain.) 

Look here, Miss Kitty, I hope you’ll understand— 
(As he begins to speak —) 

Miss Tate comes bustling in through right win¬ 
dow, all excitement and nervous haste. She is a tall, 
commanding old maid, with quick, nervous manner; 
but at heart full of affection and sentiment. She is 
given to hyperbole. Rafford draws back and busies 
himself with breakfast things, watching and listen¬ 
ing, then goes out right door. 



28 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Miss Tate. 

Ah! Here you are, Kitty. Oh, what a night! And 
what a morning! I’m mud up to my knees (lifts her 
skirts). I never saw that fool constable show so much 
energy. He dragged me through all the mud holes 
between here and the bungalow. Good-morning, Mr. 
Sheldon. I suppose Kitty has told you about our 
appalling tragedy? Ned . 

Yes, Miss Tate. Kitty has told me all. 


Kitty. 

( Deprecatingly .) 

Now, aunty. Do put on the soft pedal. There 
was no tragedy. ^ ^ 

She says no tragedy, Mr. Sheldon! Well, what do 
. you call it, when a gang of bandits and assassins 
attack the house of a lonely woman, and— 

Kitty. 

Now, aunty. Not a gang; only one. 


Miss Tate. 

Well, I’ve just seen hundreds of tracks in the 

woods. Locke says there’s only one man. He’s a 

fool! There must have been twenty desperadoes, at 

least. (Sharply and nervously to Kitty.) Now, my 

dear, don’t interrupt me. (To Ned.) What do you 

call it when a pack of abandoned cut-throats forcibly 

enter my house— 

J Kitty. 

Now, aunty. Bungalow. 


Miss Tate. 

(Much annoyed.) 

Well, bungalow, then. Forcibly enters my bunga¬ 
low—and no doubt they would have murdered us— 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


29 


Kitty. 

If it hadn’t been for Locke— 

Mrs. Chadsey enters , left door. 

Miss Tate. 

(Sniffs with disgust.) 

Locke! Of all the fools. But here is dear Matilda. 
(Mrs. Chadsey comes in but is at once overwhelmed 
by Miss Tate’s vehemence , and remains gasping and 
speechless.) Matilda! A tragedy! Don’t be fright¬ 
ened, my dear, but we—that is, Kitty and I—were 
nearly slaughtered in our beds last night— 

Kitty. 

Oh, aunty. ^ 

(Looking apprehensively at door , left.) 

Oh, how dreadful! 

Miss Tate. 

May I speak? Burglars, Matilda, in my house! 
Gory assassins! My emeralds stolen before my very 

e ^ eS Mrs. Chadsey. 

(Whose alarm for the Bishop gives her courage to 
interrupt.) 

My dear Sarah—if you don’t mind—the bishop is 
not at all well. I’ve delayed breakfast to allow him 
to sleep. I wouldn’t have him hear of anything excit¬ 
ing for worlds. 

Rafford enters , right door . 

Rafford. 

Shall I serve breakfast, ma’am? 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Yes, Rafford. (To Miss Tate.) Now do stay to 
breakfast, and afterwards we’ll talk it all over. You 



30 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


know, I’m sure, how sorry I am. (Rafford places 
the chairs at table, etc.) 

Miss Tate. 

Stay to breakfast? Of course I will. I intend to 
do so. Do you think I could go back to that horrid 
bungalow? I shall pack up this very day. You’ll 
have to put us up to-night-—and I’m ferociously 
hungry. Locke—you know Locke, the fat constable 
—he’s a fool, too, by the way—he has led me through 
all the quagmires in that atrocious piece of w T oods 
looking for tracks. What comfort he thinks I can 
find in mudtracks I’m sure I don’t know. But I must 
tell the bishop. Nobody understands me like the dear 
bishop. I’ll wait until he’s had his coffee and rolls, 
the dear man. So sorry he’s not well. I won’t alarm 
him. Now don’t be afraid, my dear Matilda, I’ll try 
not to say a word until after breakfast. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Oh, thank you. After breakfast you shall tell us 
all. You know how nervous he is. ( The Bishop is 
heard clearing his throat outside the left door.) 
Sh-h! there he is. 


The Bishop enters, left door. He is a small, thin 
man, of most mild and benevolent innocence. He 
wears large, powerful glasses, and evidently has to 
peer through them sharply to get any view of the 
world at all. He enters briskly and in great good 
nature. 

Ned. 

Good-morning, uncle. 

Kitty. 

Good-morning, bishop. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


31 


Miss Tate. 

(Rather effusively.) 

Good-morning, my dear bishop. 

(The Bishop pauses- and peers at each one re¬ 
spectively as he is addressed , and speaks first to Miss 

Tate.) ^ 

Bishop. 

{Rubbing his hands and peering closely as he comes 
to her and holds out his hand.) 

Ah, Miss Tate, so glad to see you. Ha! Just in 
time for breakfast. ( Turns to Mrs. Chadsey.) Is 
breakfast ready, my dear? 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Quite ready. It afford, you may serve us. 

(Rafford, who has been hovering about and list¬ 
ening discreetly , bustles now to seat the people. All 
seat themselves , the Bishop at the head , facing the 

audience.) ^ 

J Bishop. 

(Genially.) 

We’re unconscionably late this morning. (To 

Rafford, as he uncovers a dish.) What’s this, 

Rafford? ^ 

Rafford. 

Fish, sir. „ 

Bishop. 

Ah; good. Will you serve it, please. (Rafford 
goes to serve the people. Mrs. Chadsey busies her¬ 
self with the coffee.) I hope you’re all as hungry as 
I am. Ha! Such a night. I quite expected to be laid 
up with rheumatism. Out in all that dreadful storm. 
Ha-ha! What do you think of that for your old 
bishop, Miss Tate? 

Miss Tate. 

Out in the storm? Good gracious, how shocking! 



32 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


I hope no one had the impertinence to be dying in 
such unseasonable weather. 

Kitty. 

Oh, aunty. Nbj) . 

We can’t always choose the weather for our im¬ 
portant engagements, Miss Tate. 

Miss Tate. 

{In a freezing tone.) 

Ah, indeed, young man? Engagements seem to be 

on your mind. Some engagements require more 

seasonable weather than others, as you’ll find. (Ned, 

snubbed, relapses into silence. There is a moment's 

awkward pause.) ~ 

r 7 Mrs. Chadsey. 

{To Miss Tate, with a significant assumption of 
innocence and to avert a quarrel.) 

I trust, Sarah, that you had a peaceful night? 

Miss Tate. 

A peaceful night? Humph! Haven’t I told you— 
{She starts out to tell her story, but is checked by the 
mingled voices of the three others, whose rudeness 
shocks the Bishop.) 

Sorry to interrupt, Miss Tate, but— 

Kitty. 

Aunty, you’re not eating! 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Oh! I forgot the thunderstorm! 

{The above three speeches are given all together, 

and hastily.) -r, 

* 7 Rafford. 

{To Miss Tate.) 

Have you a napkin, Miss? (Miss Tate waves him 
away.) 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


33 


Bishop. 

(After pausing and looking around reprovingly , 
smiles benignantly.) 

One could hardly have had a peaceful night, my 
dear, with so much thunder and lightning. I was out 
in the worst of it. Missed my train from town. Got 
out here about one o’clock. Well, I thought I knew 
that wood from end to end. The thunder and light- 
ning were most extraordinary—a marvelous exhibi¬ 
tion of the unrestrained powers of nature. (Genially.) 
But there. It’s all over, and here we are, snug and 
warm, and (to Mas. Chadsey) my dear, you will be 
glad to know that I accomplished my errand. I have 
found a publisher for my book. 

Kitty. 

(Interrupts.) 

Oh, have you written a book? I hope it’s a love 

S ^° r ^’ Miss Tate. 

(Horrified.) 

A love story by a bishop? Good heavens! What 
should bishops know about love stories? 


Kitty. 

Then I hope it’s a ripping good detective story. 

Ned. 

Ha ! That’s good ; with Locke for hero. 

Mas. Chadsey. 

The bishop, my dear, thinks about more serious 
things— Mlss Tate _ 

(Interrupts.) 

Speaking about Locke, of all the stupid men. 
Why, this morning, as I was telling you before the 
dear bishop came in—when I was nearly distracted 
after— 



34 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


(All interrupt her again , as before , much to the 
annoyance of the Bishop.) 

Rafford. 

(Putting a platter before her.) 

More fish, Miss Tate? (She glares at him and 
pushes the dish away.) 

Ned. 

How about the book, bishop ? 

Kitty. 

Aunty, you interrupt the bishop. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

I know your coffee is cold, Sarah. 

(The above three speeches are given together. 
The Bishop again looks round reprovingly , then 
smiles as before.) 

Bishop. 

Ah, the book. (Pointing to his wife.) Matilda 
knows. Ha-ha! 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Yes, the bishop has put into a book his ideas about 
psychic phenomena. 

Bishop. 

(Correct in gly.) 

So-called 1 psychic phenomena, my dear. You all 
know that I do not approve of a great deal of the 
careless theorizing that is being done upon the sub¬ 
ject. Many occurrences which are ascribed to occult 
influences are merely the sequelae—the results, my 
dears—of coincidence. I consider that it destroys a 
proper sense of personal responsibility to insist that 
hypnotism, telepathy, auto-suggestion and the rest 
play any considerable part in our ordinary expe¬ 
rience. It is against this that my book is directed. I 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


35 


call the book “Natural Coincidence the Explanation 
of Supernatural Phenomena.” 

Miss Tate. 

I hope, bishop, it’s not like one of those cheap 
French dinners—big names and little to eat. 

Bishop. 

( Good-naturedly .) 

Ha-ha! Very good. But you shall hear. Take, 
for instance, the subject of the supposed relationship 
between premonition and tragic occurrences, such as 
a great crime— 

Miss Tate. 

( Who has been restless .) 

Ha! Burglary, for example! Bishop, what would 
you think of a frightful robbery? Such as—■ 

(They all interrupt again.) 

Ned. 

Oh, make it a murder at least, bishop. 

Kitty. 

Oh, aunty; do let us hear about the bishop’s book. 
Mrs. Chadsey. 

Is there a draught on your back, Sarah? 

Rafford. 

(Has been hovering round, and now pushes a dish of 
rolls before Miss Tate.) 

Fresh rolls, miss? (She pushes the dish away.) 

Bishop. 

(As before, glares about dumbfounded at the lack of 
manners, then smilingly resumes.) 

A great crime following a distinct premonition of 
danger on the part of the victim. Now, I maintain 



36 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


that in most cases the premonition which is associated 
with a particular experience is a common experience 
of the person in question. He is in the habit of hav¬ 
ing premonitions. He has had hundreds of them— 
and nothing has happened. But the one instance 
when something does happen stands out in his mind 
as the single striking phenomenon. 

Ned. 

(Half aside , to Kitty.) 

Sounds like he was counting out for a game— 
eeny, meeny, miney mo— 

Kitty. 

( Laughs.) 

Sh! You’ll be “it” in a minute, if he hears you. 

Bishop. 

(Has paused to drink his coffee.) 

It works this way. One has the habit of premoni¬ 
tion. Habit produces expectancy. He is looking for 
that particular happening. Something like it does 
happen, and he thinks the whole universe, natural 
and supernatural, has conspired to visit him with 
that calamity. 

Kitty. 

(With a tone of scarcely complimentary surprise.) 

Why, it’s real interesting! 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Of course, my dear. 

Ned. 

Well, bishop, how about people who have premoni¬ 
tions to whom nothing ever happens ? 

Bishop. 

(Glows with enthusiasm.) 

Ah! I knew you would ask that. I have in prep- 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


37 


aration a chapter upon that very point. The answer 
is—they make it happen! Indeed, it was because I 
was at the library looking up data for that chapter 
that I missed my train last night. But (shaking his 
head in mild regret ) the recorded material for that 
chapter is very meagre. But I shall find enough. Yes, 
people of nervous temperament and vivid imagination 
are quite capable of making things happen. 

Kitty. 

Dear me, bishop, do you really think so? Real 
things? Crimes? Tragedies? How creepy! 

Miss Tate. 

(Sniffs with incredulity.) 

Nonsense. How can they be real? 

Bishop. 

(Impressively .) 

They are real to the people who imagine them. 

Miss Tate. 

Something like a dream, I suppose. 

Bishop. 

Yes. A sort of waking dream. 

Miss Tate. 

Anything as real as a burglary, for instance? 
(Rushes on.) Now, I have always had a premonition 
that I should be robbed, and— 

(Next three speeches are given together.) 

Ned. 

It’s like somnambulance, hey? 

Kitty. 

How delightfully gruesome! 



38 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Mrs. Chadsey. 

Dear Sarah, you have a thousand premonitions. 

Rafford. 

(Has spied Miss Tate’s handkerchief on the floor , 
and now hands it to her.) 

Your handkerchief, miss. 

Bishop. 

( Glares , then goes on unctuously.) 

Then there are real dreams—when one is actually 
asleep. Quite real experiences to the dreamer, but 
having no basis in fact. Now 7 often dream things 
that are most realistic—especially when I’m very 
tired. Some day I shall wake up and hear of some¬ 
thing just like my dream. But I shall not for that 
reason consider that my dream has anything to do 
with it except as a coincidence. ( Laughs indul¬ 
gently.) Now, last night, for instance, when I went 
to bed tired out I had a most outlandish dream— 
but surprisingly realistic! 

Kitty. 

Oh, tell us; tell us, bishop. 

Bishop. 

(Laughs in half-apology.) 

Why, it was not a very creditable kind of dream 
for a bishop, I must confess. 


Ned. 

All the more exciting. What was it? Did you 
dream that you Were shooting dice with a mil¬ 
lionaire? ,, ~ 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Ned! 

Bishop. 

(Laughs indulgently.) 

Worse than that, Ned. 




TOO MANY CROOKS 


39 


Kitty. 

Good gracious! Not that you eloped with a chorus 

kdy? Bishop. 

Oh, dear me, no. But I won’t say, “worse than 
that.” 

Miss Tate. 

Well, I should say not. 


Ned. 

{In a sing-song of mockery.) 

Oh, I don’t know. There are worse things. 

Kitty. 

Ned! You are particularly disgusting. But do 
tell us, bishop. 

Yes. Get it off your chest, uncle. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Don’t indulge these ribald children, bishop ! 

Miss Tate. 

Well, for mercy sakes. Do let the bishop tell his 
awful dream. His dreams are the only chance the 
dear man ever has to be really wicked. 


Ned. 

Ha! Sort of safety-valve for high pressure con¬ 
sciences. .Miss Tate> 

Young man, you are flippant. 

Ned. 

Well, bishop, confess it all. I always knew you 
weEe a man who could do things—if you had half a 

chance ' Miss Tate. 

Huh! More than you will ever be. 



40 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Ned. 

Sh-h-h! He’s about to tell. ( Looks rouncf.) 
hope Locke isn’t about. 


Bishop. 

Well, you’ll all laugh—but it was a robbery! 


Miss Tate. 

Merciful powers! 

r Kitty. 

Who was the robber? 


I 


Bishop. 


I was. 


Ned. 

(In mock admiration .) 

Pshaw. That’s nothing for uncle. Didn’t I tell 
you he was a wonder? 

Bishop. 

Well—it seems hardly credible—but I dreamed 
that I had a sudden, uncontrollable passion for pre¬ 
cious stones. Then I thought I must possess myself 
of Miss Tate’s emeralds. (Rafford begins to be 

interested .) XT 

' Ned. 

Good old uncle. He’s a regular rascal when he 
does let himself go. 

Miss Tate. 

(Breathlessly.) 

My emeralds! 

When the Bishop has begun his next speech , Jenny 
enters quietly from right door, and assists Rafford. 


Bishop. 

Yes. I suppose it came from hearing you express 
your anxiety about them. Well, it was quite real. I 
simply couldn’t help it. I disguised myself and crept 
through the woods, in just such a storm as last night. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


41 


I seemed to glory in the noise and confusion, and was 
glad of it. I got easily past the window into the 
living-room where the safe is. Then with some un¬ 
accountable deftness and skill I made short work of 
the combination of the safe. Why, I can almost tell 
you the numbers now. {All are interested. Ned, 
nervously anxious and watchful; Mrs. Chadsey 
anxious about the Bishop; Rafford uneasy; Kitty 
absorbed; Miss Tate, gradually stiffening with ex¬ 
citement.) I opened the safe, put the case of gems 
in my overcoat pocket, closed the safe and prepared 
to leave the room. Then in some strange way I got 
afoul of the windows ; made a frightful racket. The 
household was roused. I saw Miss Tate come into 
the room. She screamed and fainted—then I ran off 
and hid myself in the woods— 

(Rafford here stands motionless , staring at the 
Bishop. Ned rises and twitches him aside. From 
this time on Rafford shows keen interest in every¬ 
thing that is said and done , while he busies himself 
in clearing away the breakfast things , helped by 
Jenny, who also plays her part in the business — 
now listening to the story , now watching Rafford. 
Both Rafford and Jenny exeunt into kitchen just 
before Locke comes in. Kitty also begins to rise. 
Mrs. Chadsey is admiringly absorbed in the Bishop’s 
story and does not notice the rest. Miss Tate grows 
more and more excited and finally jumps up. The 
Bishop also rises.) 

' Miss Tate. 

{Exclaims sharply.) 

Bishop ! This is positively miraculous. 

Kitty. 

Aunty, the bishop hasn’t finished. 



42 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Mrs. Chadsey. 

Don’t excite yourself, bishop. 

Miss Tate. 

( Explosively.) 

The very thing as it happened! 

Ned. 

( Half-j okingly.) 

Uncle, you’d 1 better not tell the neighbors. 

Miss Tate. 

Astonishing! Do you know, bishop, this is exactly 
what happened— ^ 

(Trying to hush her.) 

Miss Tate. 

Do let me alone. I simply can't keep it in any 
longer. Bishop, the emeralds were stolen last night, 
just as you have described it! 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Don’t allow yourself to get excited, bishop. ( The 
Bishop listens with close attention.) 

Miss Tate. 

(Hurries on.) 

Just exactly as you have told it. The storm kept 
me awake. That new safe and the emeralds got on 
my mind. I got up several times and glanced into the 
living-room. Everything w T as all right. I grew more 
nervous. About two o’clock, when the lightning was 
most vivid, I saw a man with a mask and a slouched 
hat working at the safe. In a few moments he had 
it open. He took the case of emeralds and shut the 
safe again. I was fascinated by him, he worked so 
skillfully and coolly. Finally, I got courage to creep 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


43 


upstairs, more dead than alive, and awakened Kitty. 
She tried to telephone, but the lightning had burned 
out the fuse. Then we both went down-stairs. There 
was a noise of rattling and gruff voices. I stole up 
to the door and there was the man, in the window, 
apparently waiting for someone. I think he heard 
me, for he made off and—and—I fainted— 


Mrs. Chadsey. 

Now, bishop, don’t excite yourself. 


Bishop. 

(In uncontrollable delight , forgets Miss Tate’s 
anxiety.) 

Don’t worry about me, Matilda. I am so glad. 
Why, it’s splendid, superb! It’s just what might 
have been expected. It’s perfect! Miss Tate, you 
couldn’t have done me a better turn. It’s an ideal 
case. I am delighted ! 

Miss Tate. 

(With astonishment .) 

Delighted. Mrs. Chadsey. 


What? 


Bishop. 

(Enthused.) 

beyond expression. Nothing could be 
Ned. 

(Nervously humorous.) 

You see? He’s a criminal to the core. 


Pleased 

better. 


Kitty. 

(Also nervous.) 

Ned, don’t. He’s gone dotty. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Bishop, you have excited yourself too much. I 
knew you would. I warned you, Sarah. 



44 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Kitty. 

He seems to think it’s a joke. 


Ned. 

No. He’s gone off his head. Better go and lie 
down, uncle. ^ Tate 

( With considerable dignity.) 

I don’t see anything so delightful about the affair, 
bishop. I hope I’m too old a friend for you to make 
game of me. I didn’t expect this from you. ( She is 
overcome with indignation and distress and begins to 
wipe her eyes.) Bishop 

My dear Miss Tate, it is really delightful. Do go 
over the whole story again. I must have every detail. 


Miss Tate. 

I think not. This is too much. Matilda, the dear 
bishop must be ill. Kitty, I think we should go at 
once. (She prepares , with dignity , to go.) 


Ned. 

If the bishop were a drinking man, now— 
Kitty. 


Ned! ^ 

Bishop. 

(To Ned.) 

Do you mean to be disrespectful, sir? Can’t you 
see that you are in the presence of a wonderful reve¬ 
lation of nature? XT 

Ned. 

No, but I see that we’re all in the fog somehow. 


Miss Tate. 

(Having moved toward right window.) 

Come, Kitty, this is no place for us. I did hope to 
find sympathy here. Come; we must pack up and 
leave before night. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


45 


Bishop. 

(In an agony of enthusiasm , and trying to make 
himself understood .) 

Miss Tate, I beg of you, listen. I owe you a debt 
of gratitude. You have practically completed my 
book. I wanted just one such convincing example. 
And for the author himself to be able to quote his 
facts at first hand is invaluable. 


Quite so. 
dow.) 


Miss Tate. 

(With great asperity.) 

Good-day! ( Moving toward right win- 

Bishop. 

(Following her , beseechingly.) 

Really, Miss Tate, you misunderstand me. Let 
me explain! Mlss Tate . 

( Coldly , as she pauses and turns back.) 

Well, perhaps our old friendship does deserve that. 
I should be sorry to think you were making light of 
such a calamity. Explain, if you can. 


Bishop. 

Your premonitions; your habit of expectancy; 
your strong imagination. Don’t you see? You, and 
you only, have committed this robbery! 

(All show their several sentiments. Rafford is 
dumbfounded; Kitty amused and wondering; Ned 
gives it up with a shrug of the shoulders and turns 
away. Mrs. Chadsey is in tears; Miss Tate speech - 
less from indignation.) 

Miss Tate. 

I—I—rob myself? My poor Matilda! The dear 
man is clearly distracted. 



46 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Bishop. 

{Striving against the fates to be understood.) 

Most assuredly. You robbed yourself in your own 
imagination. 

Miss Tate. 

Nonsense. Are my own eyes and ears nothing? 
Didn’t I see the man ? 

Bishop. 

{Eagerly.) 

Yes. You saw him. You saw him. But did any¬ 
body else see him ? Kitty, did you ? 

Kitty. 

Why, no, not exactly. But I heard the racket. 

Bishop. 

Excellent! You see? {To Miss Tate.) The thun¬ 
derstorm was all she heard. All the rest was your 
imagination. Why, it’s the most perfect thing I 
ever heard! 

Miss Tate. 

{Ironically.) 

Except, perhaps, your dream. 

Bishop. 

Ah1 There again, perfect! Two cases in one. 
Marvelous coincidence, the whole thing. My dream, 
your presentiment. Everything works together. You 
thought you saw your safe robbed. I dreamed I did 
the robbery. {Rubs his hands with glee.) It’ll make 
my last chapter a clincher for the critics. We’ll have 
all the people involved write out their statements. 
Does anyone else know about it, Miss Tate? We 
mustn’t omit one person— 

While Bishop is talking , Locke appears aggres- 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


47 


sively at right window. All see him except the 
Bishop. 

Ned. 

(Interrupts ruefully.) 

Yes. Here’s another witness. Come in, Locke. 
(Locke comes into the room.) 

Bishop. 

(Turns and sees Locke.) 

Ah, Locke, mj good man, good-morning. Ha! So 
you have had a burglary, eh? 

Locke. 

(With wheeze.) 

That’s what they call it. Up at Miss Tate’s. 
Bishop. 

Did you see anything of it ? 


Locke. 

Well, I see enough to make me want to see more. 
(Wheeze.). ]!lsHOr . 

What did you actually see? 


Locke. 

Why, I see lights a-movin’ about Miss Tate’s 
bungalow early this mornin’ (wheeze). I see a dark 
suspicious figger a-sneakin’ through the woods 
(wheeze). I goes an’ finds there’s been a robbery 
(wheeze). Then I finds tracks in the mud—hundreds 
of ’em (wheeze) trompin’ ’round— (wheeze). 


Bishop. 

But you did not see the burglar himself, eh? Eh? 
Locke. 

Well, mebbe I did—mebbe I didn’t. I see enough. 




48 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Bishop. 

{Exasperated.) 

But, Locke, you yourself did not, with your own 
eyes, see the robber in Miss Tate’s living-room, open¬ 
ing the safe and taking something from it? 

Locke. 

Well, no {wheeze). Not likely. Burglars don’t 
make an appointment with the constable to watch 
’em ( wheezes , then laughs at his own joke). 

Bishop. 

( Triumphantly.) 

There! I thought so. Not a single witness! Miss 
Tate, the emeralds are in the safe, just as certainly 
as you are in this room. 

Locke. 

What? ( Wheeze.) You don’t mean it’s all a mis¬ 
take? 

Miss Tate. 

Of course not, Locke. But don’t cross the bishop. 
He’s been too much excited as it is. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Yes, Locke, the bishop is not well. 

Kitty. 

Run along, that’s a good Locke. 

Ned. 

We’ll send for you if we want you, Locke. 

Bishop. 

Good-morning, Locke. You’re a faithful officer. 
It’s not your fault if you saw nothing. Good-day. 

Locke. 

{Stands doggedly in his tracks.) 

All very well {wheeze). But, as you say, I’m a 
faithful officer. ’T all events, I’m th’ only constable 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


49 


in this town ( wheeze ) and I got mj duty to perform 
{wheeze). Now {comes down deliberately and pon¬ 
derously and takes centre of stage ), there’s a bur¬ 
glary been done—as ye may say, right under my 
nose. I almost see the robbery {wheeze). Anyhow, I 
get to the scene of the crime in time ter see a man 
run past me into the woods. Then, at sun-up 
{wheeze) I find tracks in the mud. I follered them 
tracks, at considerable personal inconvenience 
{wheeze). Now you may be surprised to learn, 
bishop, as I was, that them tracks end up at your 
house— {wheeze) right here! 


Bishop. 

{With indulgent patience.) 

Well, Locke, what do you infer from that? 

Ned. 

Yes. What do you mean? 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Please come another time, Locke. The bishop is 

not himself. -r, 

Bishop. 

Nonsense. What is it, Locke? 


Locke. 

( Very ill at ease , but striving to be dignified; wheezes 
at intervals.) 

Well, you see, I have ter foiler up what clues I can 
get. Them clues leads to this house. I’ll have ter 
find out if there’s anything suspicious happened here. 
They may lead to nothin’, ’r ag’in they may le'ad to 

somethin’. „ 

Bishop. 

{In amused good^nature.) 

Locke, you’re a good man, but you’re mistaken. 
What do you want us to do? 



50 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Locke. 

( Wheeze.) 

Well, I reckon it’ll be about th’ right thing to 
question th’ whole household. 

Ned. 

What? Here and now? The idea! 

Kitty. 

The whole thing is absurd! 

Miss Tate. 

( Indignantly .) 

Locke, you are ridiculous. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Why, Locke! You don’t suspect any of us, do 

y° u? Locke. 

Well, I dunno. ( Cunningly .) I must foiler up my 
clues—( wheeze ) an’ them footprints^ ye know— 

Kitty. 

( Nervously .) 

Oh, “them footprints” are getting on my nerves. 
Ned. 

(Trying to throw the thing off as a joke.) 

I tell you what it is, Locke, if you want to do the 
thing right, you must get a magnifying glass and go 
all over the house inch by inch. 

Locke. 

(Unconscious of the sarcasm.) 

Well—( wheeze) mebbe ’twould be a good idee— 

Bishop. 

Well, Locke, we’ll humor you. Shall we summon 
the servants? 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


51 


Locke. 

If ye please, bishop. 

Bishop. 

Will you ring, Ned? 

Ned. 

(Goes and rings.) 

Better have the dog in, too. 

Miss Tate. 

Well, I don’t suppose you’ll need me , Locke. We 
were just going. ( Sarcastically.) With all your 
cleverness, I don’t suppose it has occurred to you, as 
it has to others ( glaring at the Bishop) to suspect 
me of robbing myself. 

Rafford and Jenny enter from kitchen. They stand 

and listen. 

Kitty. 

(Eagerly and sweetly.) 

And you surely don’t suspect me, Locke. ( She and 
Miss Tate prepare to go.) 

Locke. 

Well, I dunno. ( Obstinately.) You’re here now 
(wheeze). I kinder think I’d like ye ter stay ’til I 
get through (wheeze). Somethin’ might transpire. 

Miss Tate. 

(Pettishly.) 

The fool! (Kitty begins to grow' nervous and 
looks appealingly at Ned. Miss Tate walks back 
from window and sits down.) 

Bishop. 

Well, the household is assembled. Go on, Locke. 
But I tell you, the emeralds are in the safe. (Seats 
himself , then thinks of the servants and addresses 



52 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


them.) Oh, I forgot. Rafford, Jenny—Locke thinks 
there’s been a robbery. You must have heard us talk¬ 
ing about it at breakfast. Locke wants to ask some 

questions. T 

J ENNY. 

All right, sir. (Looks anxiously at Rafford, who 
is very much disturbed.) 

Rafford. 

Askin’ questions is no good. Besides, we ain’t 
bound to answer. That’s the first principle of the law. 

Ned. 

Good old Rafford! Of course not. Eh, Locke? 
Locke. 

( Doggedly, but cunningly.) 

Mebbe so. But them as don’t answer, I shall have 
my own ideas about. (Wheeze.) 

Miss Tate. 

The old fool! (Moves about in her chair in a 

nervous pet .) 

r Bishop. 

Go on, Locke. T 

Locke. 

( Wheeze.) 

Well, fust of all, I’ll question Miss Tate. (Miss 

Tate turns towards him aggressively.) Miss Tate, 

would you reckonize the robber you saw opening your 

safe? ,, „ 

Miss Tate. 

Of course not. He had a mask and slouch hat. 
Locke. 

Good. (Wheeze.) Then it might be most anybody. 

Miss Tate. 

(Tartly.) 

Yes, most anybody with two legs and a little brain. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


53 


Not you , certainly, Locke. (Kitty laughs nervously 

and irrelevantly.) T 

° J Locke. 

Did he look like anybody here? 

Miss Tate. 

Look here, Locke. Don’t you, of all men, try to 
be funny. I tell you, I don’t know. ( Peevishly .) The 
bishop thinks it was all a dream; that I robbed my¬ 
self. I refer you to him as an authority on dreams. 
(Rises resolutely and walks about.) As for me, I 
shall be at the bungalow all day, packing, if you feel 
moved to arrest me for robbing myself. I shall await 
you with interest. Ned Sheldon, I wonder you allow 
your uncle to be made ridiculous. 


Kitty. 

( Playfully.) 

Locke, perhaps you dreamed the robbery yourself. 
That would be perfect. I’m sure you have imagina¬ 
tion enough. T 

° Locke. 

( Ponderously.) 

I never dream. 

Bishop. 

{Peering at him through his glasses , with interest.) 

Dear me, Locke, you’re a curiosity. I must have 

you in my book. T 

17 J Locke. 

{Stubbornly.) 

Am I to examine th’ household or not, bishop? 
Bishop. 

Of course ; go ahead. 

Locke. 

{Turns to Mrs. Chadsey.) 

Mrs. Chadsey, someone came to this house during 
the storm last night. I want them tracks explained. 



54 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Mrs. Chadsey. 

To be sure. The bishop got home late from the 

C ^* Locke. 

( Knowingly .) 

Huh! Well, them tracks came right from the 
woods— 

Bishop. 

{Simply.) 

Of course. I got lost in the woods during the 

storm. T 

Locke. 

Huh! Well, perhaps you kin tell us somethin’ 

about the robbery. _ 

Bishop. 

{Laughs innocently.) 

Not unless you take my dream into account. 
Locke. 

{Persistently and incredulously.) 

Huh! So you had a dream. Well, p’raps ye won’t 
mind tellin’ me that dream. 


Bishop. 

Certainly not. I— 

Miss Tate. 

Locke, this is too absurd and disrespectful. The 
bishop shall not tell you a word. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Certainly not. The bishop is not at all well. He 
must not be troubled by such things. 

Ned. 

Really, Locke, this is too serious a matter for us 
to talk about dreams. 

Kitty. 

Locke, if you ever did dream, you ought to have 
a nightmare in which some fiend would split open 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


55 


jour stupid head with an axe and put in a little com¬ 
mon sense. _ 

.Locke. 

I don’t know nothin’ about nightmares. But if 
th’ bishop really refuses— 

Bishop. 

Not at all. I was about to tell you. It’s most 
interesting— 

( Interrupts .) 

The long and short of it is that the bishop, by an 
odd coincidence, dreamed that he robbed Miss Tate’s 
safe and got the emeralds. 

Bishop. 

Precisely. A most curious coincidence. I— 
Locke. 

( With stubborn persistence.) 

What did you dream you done with the emeralds, 

bishop? Ned. 

Why, you fool, what difference does that make? 
Kitty. 

I move that we all postpone this meeting until 

Locke gets sober. , r „ 

B Miss Tate. 

Locke, I discharge you from this case. You shall 

not pester the bishop. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Come, Locke. Remember the bishop is not well. 
Ned. 

Locke, if you don’t go, I’ll throw you out. 


Bishop. 

Now, my dears, don’t be foolish. Nobody here is' 
afraid of Locke. He’s trying to do his duty. Locke, 
in my dream, I put the jewels into my overcoat— 



56 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Kitty. 

{Agitated.) 

Oh, bishop! You forget. You said you threw 
them away in the woods. 

Rafford. 

( Hurriedly .) 

That’s so. I heard him say it. 


Ned. 


Of course. 


Bishop. 
{Innocently.) 

Did I? Well, that was a mistake 


Locke. 

Where is that overcoat? 


Ned. 

{In desperate straits.) 

Look here, Locke. I am ashamed of you. This has 
gone far enough. If you take this ridiculous stand 
upon your authority as constable, the bishop will 
stand upon his rights as a citizen. You can’t insult 
this family any longer. Unless you have a search 
warrant you shall not go on with this absurd farce. 
There’s no thief in this house. Now, get out before 
I put you out! 

Bishop. 

Ned, don’t be violent. If Locke wants to examine 
my overcoat, he shall do so. (Bishop takes coat gin¬ 
gerly from the chair , holding it hy the collar .) Here 
it is. You see? It’s still quite damp. 

Ned. 

{In great alarm.) 

I beg your pardon, uncle, but you must be beside 
yourself to submit to any such indignity. Aunt 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


57 


Matilda, Miss Tate, Kitty—I appeal to you. Shall 
this go on? 


Kitty. 
Miss Tate. 
Mrs. Chadsey. 


Certainly not! 

Of course not! 

It’s ridiculous. 

(The above three replies are given together.) 
Ned. 

(To Locke.) 

Now, out you go. (To Rafford, mho is only too 
eager.) Rafford. (They approach Locke threaten- 

in ^ Locke. 

Well, I’ve got my own idees about my duty. I 
know what I know. If you insist upon a search war¬ 
rant, I’ll get one. (He begins to retire clumsily.) 
But I warn ye, if I begin to search, I won’t stop fer 
no talk, nor no threats of personal violence! 


Ned. 

All very well. I hope you won’t. Good-day. We’ll 
see you off the grounds now, anyway. (He and Raf¬ 
ford hustle Locke out of the right window , and fol¬ 
low him out.) -j-j 

J Bishop. 

(Much agitated.) 

This is most disorderly. Why not permit the man 
to examine the overcoat? 


Mrs. Chadsey. 

Because we know there’s nothing in it. (She 
takes the coat from him by the collar.) Here, give 
it to me. (Feels of it.) It’s not dry yet. It’s most 
imprudent for you to handle it. (She throws the coat 
carelessly on the chair and stands near it until Bishop 
has gone.) 



58 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Miss Tate. 

After all, they are my emeralds, and you are my 
bishop, and I won’t have any such tomfoolery. I’d 
rather lose the miserable things, anyhow, than to 
give that fool Locke the satisfaction of finding them. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

{To Jenny and Rafford.) 

You needn’t wait. 


(Jenny and Rafford exeunt into kitchen.) 

Miss Tate. 

Kitty, I think better of that Ned of yours. He’s 
beginning to do things. He’s worth looking after. 
You may go and see that he gets no harm. 

Kitty. 

All right, aunty. {Looking anxiously at overcoat , 
she goes hastily out.) 

Bishop. 

I’m really sorry about all this, Miss Tate. But 
you’ll find I’m right about your premonition. It’s 
extremely interesting— 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Bishop, you’ve been altogether too much excited. 

Do go and lie down. 

° Bishop. 

Not at all. I am delighted. I must do some writ¬ 
ing at once. {Goes towards desk at left , takes out 
key from his pocket , opens drawer in desk and takes 
out manuscript , closes drawer hut leaves key in 
drawer.) I’ll take my manuscript and make a few 
notes for that last chapter. You’ll excuse me, Miss 

Tate. ,, 

Miss Tate. 

Certainly, bishop. I shall be gone in a moment, so 
that you may write at your own desk. (Bishop exits, 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


59 


left door. As soon as he is gone , Miss Tate and Mrs. 
Chadsey come together at center.) Matilda! Did 
you ever hear anything so dreadful as that consum¬ 
mate fool Locke suspecting the bishop? 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

I am afraid it will make the bishop ill. 

Miss Tate. 

I wish he hadn’t told about his dream. It makes 
me nervous. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

You don’t think, Sarah, there’s anything in it? 

Miss Tate. 

Anything in it ? How ? 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

That the bishop could have been walking in his 
sleep, or anything like that? 

Miss Tate. 

Nonsense! He’s got his head muddled by those 
crazy notions about premonitions and dreams. Could 
anything be more unlike the dear bishop than for 
him to insist that I robbed myself? I never came so 
near quarreling with him in my life. I tell you, the 
bishop is not himself. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

(Glancing toward the overcoat.) 

That overcoat has got on my nerves. ( She hesi¬ 
tates , then laughs nervously.) I shall have no peace 
until I look in the pockets. 

Miss Tate. 

How utterly absurd. ( Then changes to irrelevant 
curiosity.) Well, let’s look at it, anyway. (Mrs. 
Chadsey goes close to the chair.) 



60 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Mrs. Chadsey. 

{Anxiously .) 

Sarah! Do you suspect the dear bishop? 

Miss Tate. 

{Indignant.) 

If I did, would I want to incriminate him? Come, 
let’s have it over and look at the coat. 


Mrs. Chadsey. 

{Takes it and comes down stage.) 

I’m trembling all over. What if the emeralds 

should be here? ^ 

Miss Tate. 

{Hastily taking the coat.) 

Here, Matilda, let me look. We are acting like a 
;ouple of silly schoolgirls. {Puts her hand at ran¬ 
dom into one of the pockets and brings it out empty.) 
There. You see? Nothing. {Puts her hand in again 
and stops with a puzzled and surprised expression.) 
Well, of all the marvels. {She still keeps her hand in 
the pocket.) Matilda! 


Mrs. Chadsey. 

{Hastily seizes Miss Tate’s hand and pulls it out 
with the case in it; takes the case.) 

Sarah! {They look at each other.) I shall faint! 

Miss Tate. 

The poor bishop ! His mind must be failing. If I 
had only known. Why didn’t you stop my foolish 
tongue? I’m thankful that fool Locke isn’t here. 
Now what’s to be done? 


Mrs. Chadsey. 

{Who has recovered somewhat.) 
You don’t think the bishop— 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


61 


Miss Tate. 

I don’t know what to think. But I’m sure the dear 
bishop is incapable of such a thing. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

But here are the emeralds—( Holds out case.) 

Miss Tate. 

( With great energy.) 

What of it? I wouldn’t believe he’d stolen them 
even if I’d seen him with my own eyes. But don’t 
stand there trembling and blinking, Matilda. Hide 
them! Someone will be coming. Hide them until we 
can think what to do. ( She goes and hangs up the 
overcoat on the rack , up center.) 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

I believe I hear the bishop coming back. ( They 
have drawn near the desk.) 

Miss Tate. 

Quick; the desk. ( She opens the drawer.) Quick! 
(Mrs. Chadsey puts case in desk , locks it and takes 
out the key.) The key; the key! The bishop will 
ask for it. Give it to me—quick! 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

(Has gone up near right window.) 

He shan’t have it. I’ll throw it away first. ( Throws 
the key out of window , as —) 

Bishop enters from left door. 

Bishop. 

Ah. I find I have left some pages of my manu¬ 
script. ( The women stand in silence as he goes to the 
desk and tries to open the drawer.) Strange. I must 



62 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


have locked the drawer. ( Searches his pocket for the 
key.) Did you see what I did with the key, Matilda? 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

{Faintly.) 

Oh—er—the key? 

Miss Tate. 

Now, bishop, do let your writing alone for a few 
hours. You must rest. 

Bishop. 

{Shakes his head in bewilderment.) 

Not at all; not at all. Never felt better— {Stops 
and thinks.) Now, where did I put that key? {Goes 
out left door , feeling in his pockets.) 

(Miss Tate and Mrs. Chadsey embrace sympa¬ 
thetically.) 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Sarah! 

Miss Tate. 

Matilda! 

Curtain. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


Second Act. 

Scene: The same as the First Act; that evening. 

When the curtain rises, the stage in semi-darkness; 
hut there is enough light for everything to be clearly 
visible to audience. The Bishop sits at his desk, with 
the overcoat thrown over his shoulders. On the desk 
are manuscript, books, etc. He is writing and read¬ 
ing, evidently worried by the fading light. He tries 
ineffectually to open the locked drawer. Finally he 
gathers up papers, makes one more peevish attempt 
to open drawer, then goes to hat rack and is awk¬ 
wardly removing overcoat when — 

Ned enters, left door. 

Ned. 

Am I disturbing you? 

Bishop. 

Not at all. (Ned has advanced to help him with 
overcoat, but the Bishop has hung it up before he 
gets there.) 

Ned. 

You make a good long day of it. 

Bishop. 

(Moving toward left door.) 

Yes, yes; a good day. Got on famously —(with an 
annoyed glance at desk) except for those notes! 

(He goes out left door. Ned looks through door 
after him, then glances around, then goes hastily to 
left side of hat rack, and begins rummaging in over¬ 
coat. As he does so —) 


63 



64 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Kitty enters right window , hurries to overcoat 
opposite Ned, and fumbles in coat. They do not see 
each other until their hands meet. Both exclaim. 

Ned. 

(Savagely seizing her hand.) 

Aha! Who’s that? 

Kitty. 

( With suppressed scream.) 

Oh! (Recognizing him.) What a fright you 
gave me! 

Ned. 

Kitty! (Embraces her while she half cries and half 
laughs hysterically.) Sh! Not so loud. (They 
come down center.) 

Kitty. 

(Having recovered somewhat, in excited tone.) 

Were they there? (Pointing to overcoat.) The 
emeralds? In the coat? 

Ned. 

I didn’t find them. Did you? 

Kitty. 

No. We must find them. (Both rush to the hat 
rack, seize the coat, begin to rummage in pockets, 
turning the coat upside-down, and, half-laughing and 
struggling, bring it down center. Kitty gives up in 
despair.) Nothing! (Leaves the coat in Ned’s 
hands.) 

Ned. 

Nothing! {He throws the coat down in disgust.) 

Kitty. 

Where can they be? I’ve been trying all day to 
come and look. Aunty’s been packing up. I had to 
go to the village and buy pepper. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


65 


Ned. 

Pepper? What for? She doesn’t need any. 

Kitty. 

Oh, you silly. Pepper to pack her things in. 

Ned. 

Good Lord, what an idea! ( Reflecting;.) Who 
could have taken those emeralds? 

Kitty. 

We’ve simply got to find them. We can’t have 
that fool constable nosing about here. 

As they are speaking, Jenny hurriedly enters, 
right door. She is in hysterical tears and is about to 
rush across the stage toward the left door. Ned and 
Kitty see her and turn. 

Kitty. 

Jenny. What on earth is the matter? 

Jenny. 

I must see the bishop ! (Weeps; is going on; Ned 
stops her. 

(Hurriedly .) 

Wait a minute! What is the matter? 

Jenny. 

(Comes down center between them.) 

Oh, Oh, Mr. Ned. It’s—Percy! 

Ned. 

Percy? Who’s Percy? 

Jenny. 

(Explaining with comic and tearful sentiment.) 

Rafford. I call him Percy, since he reformed. It’s 
more refined-like. (Relapses into despair.) But 


Ned. 



66 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


what’s the use? It don’t make no difference! ( Blub¬ 
bers.) I knew it would happen—I knew it—I told 
you! Oh, oh! ( Overcome by her emotion.) 


Ned. 

( Irritably.) 

Kitty. 

( Impatiently .) 

For mercy sakes, woman, be quiet and tell us. 


Well? 


Jenny. 

( Wiping her eyes tragically.) 
He has confessed all! 


Ned. 

What has he confessed? 


Jenny. 

The robbery; Miss Tate’s emeralds. 

Ned. 

Now the fat is in the fire. ( To Jenny, nervously.) 
Well, well, go on; go on! 

Kitty. 

Yes, yes. What has he said? 

Jenny. 

Told me the whole thing! ( Accusingly , to Ned.) 
Oh—how could you set him on to do it? 

Ned. 

( Conscience-smitten .) 

Oh, bother ! Heaven knows I’m sorry enough. Stop 
that blubbering and don’t tell the whole family. 

Kitty. 

Yes. We’ll get him out of it—only be patient. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


67 


Jenny. 

(Still with suppressed sobs.) 

P-p-p-patient ? Oh-h! It’ll ruin the two of us. 
He’ll go back again \o his old trade and I’ll have to 
follow him. 

Ned. 

Nonsense. 

Jenny. 

He says he will. Says he’s tired of bein’ reformed. 
Says he’s sick of the whole business of goin’ straight. 
An’ I don’t blame him. (She weeps silently.) 

Kitty. 

(Soothingly.) 

Come, come, pull yourself together. Things can’t 
be so bad. (Points to the overcoat.) Hang up that 
coat, that’s a good girl, and dry your eyes and light 
the lamps. Suppose someone should come. 

Ned. 

(With decision.) 

And send Rafford here at once. (Jenny, still 
weeping , takes the coat and goes and hangs it up , 
lights a lamp or two and goes out , right. Ned and 
Kitty come down center , look meaningly at each 
other and speak in whispers.) Rafford! I never 
thought of him. He’s got them! 

Kitty. 

(Alarmed.) 

He’s desp’erate. He’ll be off with them ! 

Ned. 

Good Lord! Suppose she had told the bishop. We 
must fix Rafford somehow. 

Rafford enters from right door . 



68 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Rafford. 

Well, governor? 

Ah. I say, Rafford, hand over those emeralds. 

Quick—and no nonsense! This thing is getting 

serious. T> 

Rafford. 

{Morosely.) 

Huh! I like that! “Hand over the emeralds,” 
says you. If I had ’em, d’ye think I’d be hangin’ 
’round here? Not likely. 

Ned. 

What’s got into you? Do you mean to say you 
didn’t find them in that overcoat? 

Kitty. 

{Desperately anxious.) 

You must have found them. Oh, say you did. 


Rafford. 

{Sarcastically.) 

Sorry to disappoint you. Only wish I had. I ain’t 
had no chance. The bishop’s been a-writin’ here all 
day. I’d a beat it afore this, if I had found ’em. I’m 
sick o’ this reform racket. {To Ned.) Nice way to 
treat a pal, governor. You gives me all the trouble, 
I does all the work, an’ you laughin’ and jokin’ 
about it. I’m sick, I am. 

Ned. 

{With serio-comic grimace and ironic laughter.) 

Oh, yes. You are a wizard if you can see me laugh¬ 
ing and joking. It’s long past a joke now. 


Rafford. 

I should say so. I’m the goat, all right. I’ve been 
in two minds all day to blow th’ whole thing to Miss 
Tate. And then I thinks, wot’s the good? She won’t 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


69 


believe me. You’d go back on me. I’d only send 
myself up. So I made up my mind I’d pinch the 
emeralds if I could find ’em and get away. ( Gloom¬ 
ily .) When it’s blown over, Jenny might come 
with me. 

Kitty. 

( Who has been thinking.) 

Well, you haven’t got them yet, at all events— 
Ned. 

{To Rafford.) 

And look here. It’s no good to “beat it” without 

them. You might as well stand in with us until you 

see what happens. 

rr Rafford. 

(Still obstinately and emphatically.) 

Well, I don’t like it, I tell yer. If I find them 
shiners, it’s me fer th’ woods—quick. {He goes out 
suddenly , right door.) 

Kitty. 

He’s in a nasty temper. What’s to be done? 

Ned. 

I don’t know. It looks bad. 

Kitty. 

{Desperately.) 

Let’s make a clean breast of it and tell aunty. 
Ned. 

Horrors, no! No, she’d never forgive me for get¬ 
ting her “dear bishop” suspected. 

Kitty. 

{In desperate agreement.) 

Oh, dear. {In serio-comic mimicry of Locke.) 
Them mudtracks. {Gesture of despair.) But I must 
go. Aunty’ll wonder where I am. {Starts toward 
right window.) 



70 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Ned. 

(Makes as if to follow.) 

Let me go with you. 

Kitty. 

{Checks him with a gesture.) 

No, no. You mustn’t leave the house with RafFord 

in such a state. XT 

Ned. 

( Persistently.) 

I’ll see you a little way. 

Kitty. 

{Reluctantly.) 

You mustn’t get out of sight of the house. {They 
go out right window.) 

After a moment , Miss Tate enters , right window. 
She comes in hurriedly , looks about and then goes to 
the desk , pulls out a big bunch of keys , tries several , 
and is standing puzzled when Mrs. Chadsey comes 
in , not seeing her at first. Mrs. Chadsey makes for 
the desk also. They meet and exclaim. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Good gracious—you here! 

Miss Tate. 

{Holds out keys.) 

Don’t lose your head, for mercy’s sake. {Laughs 
sardonically.) I was only going to steal my own em¬ 
eralds. Have you found the key? If I get hold of 
that necklace I’ll sink it in the nearest pond. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

No, I haven’t found it. I suppose the emeralds 
must stay in that desk until the bishop finds them. 

Miss Tate. 

Matilda! You’re out of your mind. 



LOO MANY CROOKS 


71 


Mrs. Chadsey. 

( Wearily.) 

Twenty times while he’s been writing at that desk 

I’ve come in and tried to tell him—( weeping ) but I 

couldn’t! i> r r-pi 

Miss Tate. 

Well, I should say not. Of course he’s innocent. 
I don’t know how it’s explained, but I won’t have the 
bishop told. They’re my emeralds—and I won’t 

have it. Mrs. Chadsey. 

(Embraces Miss Tate tearfully.) 

Oh, thank you. You’re so kind. 


Miss Tate. 

( Wiping her eyes surreptitiously.) 

Nonsense. I’m a silly old fool. (Then with solemn 
conviction.) This is a visitation for being so selfish 
about Kitty and Ned. They love each other. Ned’s 
really a good chap. But I just couldn’t bring my¬ 
self to lose her. (Weeps quietly.) She’s all I have. 


Mrs. Chadsey. 

(Rousing up.) 

But what’s to be done? The bishop wants his 

papers. He’s pestered everybody—borrowed all the 

keys in the place. He’ll have that drawer open, and 

then what? ,, ^ 

Miss Tate. 

I don’t know. (Suddenly pushes Mrs. Chadsey 
toward the left door.) Here. You keep watch. I’ll 
finish trying these keys. (Pushing her out left door.) 
Go, now—quick! (Mrs. Chadsey goes out , left door. 
Miss Tate begins to fumble at the desk with keys.) 


Ned comes in right window without her seeing him. 
He stands in surprise for a moment at center , and 
then speaks. 



72 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Ned. 

(In amused tone.) 

Aha! (She turns and glares at him.) Trying to 
suppress the bishop’s book? 

Miss Tate. 

Nonsense, young man. Not at all. But I’d burn 
it up if I could. It’s his absurd theories that have 
got him into this scrape. 

Ned. 

(Alarmed.) 

Scrape? Miss Tate 

(Confused.) 

Why—why—this beastly suspicion of Locke’s. 

Ned. 

(Apparently about to explain.) 

Yes, but—( Hesitates.) there may be some ex¬ 
planation. ( Hesitates.) If I thought you wouldn’t 
be angry, I-I- ^ ^ 

(Impatiently.) 

Well, well, what are you sputtering about? Speak 
out, can’t you? ( Hurries on.) Ha, I know one 
thing. I’d like to get my hands on the real burglar! 

Ned. 

(Choked off just as he is about to confess.) 

Oh; humph! (He whistles, then mutters.) Lucky 

escape. Miss Tate. 

(Turns upon him.) 

Don’t mumble. Speak out. What is it? 

Ned. 


Oh, nothing. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


73 


Miss Tate. 

(Going back to her real grievance .) 

The dear bishop ! Of all the outlandish absurdi¬ 
ties, to suspect him. 

(Laughs with an attempt at jocosity.) 

And the worst of it is, it does look fishy—that 
dream of the bishop’s. 

Miss Tate. 

{Flashes out indignantly.) 

Fishy? Not at all. 

Why— {Embarrassed.) I thought that you— 


Miss Tate. 

Never mind. I won’t have the dear bishop’s name 
coupled with this ridiculous affair. {She grows so 
indignant that she begins to cry nervously.) 


Ned. 

{In astonishment.) 

Why, Miss Tate. 

Miss Tate. 

{Wiping her eyes defiantly.) 

I can’t help it. You think I’m an old cat. So I 
am! {Cries.) But when the dear bishop— {Bursts 
into tears.) Neb 

{Approaches her with show of comfort.) 

My dear Miss Tate. 

Miss Tate. 

{With peppery inconsequence.) 

Don’t touch me! I’m all unstrung. {Desperately.) 
Oh, why can’t you find that scoundrel of a burglar? 


Ned. 

{Confused.) 
Yes—er—but what can I do? 



74 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Miss Tate. 

(Turns upon him with emphasis.) 

Ned Sheldon, this is more serious than you think! 
Ned. 

Ah, is it? Miss Tate. 

(Running on.) 

Think of it. The dear bishop may actually be 

arrested! T 

Ned. 

Ah, the bishop? Oh, pshaw. Absurd! 

Miss Tate. 

Not absurd at all. And you’ll believe me, perhaps, 
when I tell you—( with exact emphasis) the emeralds 
are there—in the bishop’s desk. 

Ned. 

Good Lord! What? How—you— 

Miss Tate. 

Matilda and I found them in that overcoat. 
(Points tragically to it.) 

Ned. 

( Significantly.) 

Oh. Ah. I see. Mlsg Tate 

Oh, you see, do you? It’s more than I do. Do you 
realize it’s the very place the bishop said he put 
them? What a mercy Locke didn’t find them. 

Ned. 

But the emeralds? In that drawer, you say? 

Miss Tate. 

( Impressively.) 

In that' drawer. If Locke finds them the bishop 
will be hopelessly compromised. I wish the miserable 
things were in the bottom of the sea. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


75 


Ned. 

( Groans abstractedly .) 

So do I. __ 

Miss Tate. 

Eh? What do you say? But here, what’s to be 
done? I can’t get that desk open. Matilda threw the 
key out of the window in her fright. There’s no 
locksmith. We must get the things out of the way 
before Locke comes back. 

Ned. 

( Who has been thinking.) 

Miss Tate, you have a poor opinion of me. I don’t 
know that I have very much of myself just now. 
But— 

Miss Tate. 

(In nervous anxiety.) 

Yes, yes, yes! I know. You mean Kitty! Well, 
never mind her now. We’ve more important things 

to think about. , , 

Ned. 

Not to me. Miss Tate. {In a rapture of devotion.) 
Kitty is—why, Kitty is— 

Miss Tate. 

Yes, I know, I know. Kitty is all the world to you, 
and all that. But the dear bishop is all the world to 
me, and I won’t talk about Kitty until the bishop is 
out of this horrible muddle. 

Ned. 

{Suddenly and hopefully in earnest.) 

Then if I can find a way to get him out you’ll 
give your consent? 

Miss Tate. 

Oh, you silly, inconsistent boy. I don’t know. 
{Meaningly.) But do something— do something— 
and then we’ll talk. 



76 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Ned. 

My dear Miss Tate! 

Miss Tate. 

There, there. Remember—you must do some¬ 
thing—( The Bishop is heard , off left , clearing his 
throat .) Oh, dear, here he comes. I must guard this 
desk with my life. Ned 

(Going toward right window.) 

All right. I’ll do something. You’ll see. ( Goes 
out right window.) 

Bishop comes in left door. 


Bishop. 

( With two or three keys in his hand.) 

Ah, Miss Tate. So glad to see you. (With diffi¬ 
dence.) You’re not feeling hard toward me? Just 
between you and me, I am afraid I’m making too 
much of an idol of my new book. Do you know 
(looking innocently about) I nearly lost my tempei 
several times to-day, because I couldn’t open this 
drawer. (He goes to drawer , takes a key and tries it 
in lock , then laughs.) Ha-ha ! 

Miss Tate. 

(Hovers about him anxiously as he tries keys.) 

Indeed? It’s just as well. You are working too 
hard. Now, my dear bishop, do stop fussing with 
those keys and talk to me. 

Bishop. 

(Turns away from desk.) 

Well, if I do, (playfully) I shall talk about my pet 
idea—coincidence, you know; this robbery—which I 
am sure never took place except in your own imag¬ 
ination. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


77 


Miss Tate. 

(Begins with some asperity.) 

Indeed? {Checks herself as she thinks.) Oh, 
you’re right, of course. 

Bishop. 

{Delighted.) 

Ah, you give in? Good, good! My dear lady! 
Well, well. Now we shall get on famously. {Cun¬ 
ningly.) Now, you know, there’s one way to settle it. 


Miss Tate. 

{Puzzled.) 

Oh, is there? ^ 

Bishop. 

It’s for you to trot over, like a good woman; open 
that safe; and find the emeralds precisely where they 
have been all along. 

Miss Tate. 

Oh, you think so. g ISHOP 
Ikn owit. Miss Tate. 

Well, you and I agree that they are there. Isn’t 

that enough? Bishop 

But I want Locke to agree, too. I want his testi- 

mon y- Miss Tate. 

{Gets an idea.) 

I’ll tell you what. If you’ll promise not to write 
one word until I come back—not even to look at the 
papers in that drawer—I’ll try to open the safe. 


Bishop. 

Really. Well, it’s a hard bargain. {Hesitates.) 
But I promise. I’ll not touch pen to paper until you 
get back. There; that’s fair enough. 



78 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Miss Tate. 


Then, I’ll try. 


Bishop. 

(Puzzled.) 

Try? But where’s the difficulty? 

Miss Tate. 

I’m a frightful donkey at figures. I believe I’ve 
completely forgotten the combination. 

Bishop. 

Well, here is a dilemma. But, come, let’s see if you 
and I can’t think it out. Can’t you recall a single 

fl * ure? Miss Tate. ' 

Oh, yes, I remember too many. The moment I 

begin to think about it my brain fairly boils with 

figures. tj 

° Bishop. 

Indeed? Curious. Now try and concentrate, and 

give me the figures. (Sits at desk; takes a pad and 

pendl) Miss Tate. 

(Sits near and puzzles.) 

Let me see. There’s a three, I know. 

Bishop. 

Good. (Writes.) Three. Well? 

Miss Tate. 

Then there’s another three. 


Bishop. 


Good. 


Miss Tate. 

(Puzzled.) 

But I can’t tell whether it’s the number three on 
the dial, or three turns to the right. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


79 


Bishop. 

Well, let us suppose it’s three turns to the right. 
It sounds reasonable. 

Miss Tate. 

No, I think it must be three turns to the left. 


Bishop. 

But you know it can’t be both ways. 

Miss Tate. 

(Brightening up.) 

That’s it. That’s it. It is both ways. 

Bishop. 

( Desperately .) 

Impossible. ^ ^ 

(Throws up her hands.) 

There, you see? That’s always the way. I can’t 
even begin to get it right. 


Bishop. 

( Good-naturedly.) 

Well, well, never mind. Perhaps you’ll remember 
when you are actually working at the safe. At all 
events, if you don’t, you can telegraph to the safe 
company. But I do wish you would make one trial 
this very evening. I am so impatient to prove my 
theory. Would you be so kind? Come, I’ll run over 
with you. (He rises impulsively.) 

Miss Tate. 

No, no, don’t think of coming with me. I’ll go 
at once. (She prepares to go.) 

Bishop. 

I must go a few steps. 




80 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Miss Tate. 

Just a little way, then—and remember your 

promise. ^ 

x .dishop. 

( Laughing .) 

Yes, yes. It’s a hard bargain. But—not a line of 
writing. ( They go out right window. Just as they 
disappear —) 

Rafford comes in from kitchen, right, looks about , 
searches one or two places, gets to desk, tries drawer, 
/mds if locked and starts trying it when the Bishop 
enters, right window. Rafford turns quickly. 

Bishop. 

Ah! (As with a happy inspiration.) Just the man 
we want. (Rafford starts.) You know how to work 
the combination of a safe. 

Rafford. 

(Alarmed and sullen.) 

Naw, I don’t know nothin’ about it! 

Bishop. 

Oh. I thought— (Hesitates.) Your old profes¬ 
sion, you know— (Checks himself.) Ah, I beg your 
pardon. I’ve hurt your feelings. I wouldn’t do that 

for the world— T , 

Rafford. 

(Morosely.) 

Yer might let a man forget! ’Tain’t so easy to 
forget, I can tell yer. (Resentfully.) Not when the 
very guys as is reformin’ yer chucks yer old trade at 
yer—an’ even leads yer into it. 

Bishop. 

( Very gently and kindly.) 

Dear me. I am Very sorry, my dear fellow. Now, 
now—( Goes up kindly to Rafford and puts his arm 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


81 


round him.) You really must forgive a thoughtless 
old fellow. I’m afraid I spoke roughly. There, now. 
Will you forgive me? 

Rafford. 

( Touched.) 

Well—yes. I s’pose I must. 

Bishop. 

Well, now, that’s very handsome of you. You’re a 
gentleman. Do you know, to forgive an injury is 
the mark of a gentleman? It’s one way to do good 
to them that despitefully use you. ( Laughs apolo¬ 
getically.) But, come, come. I’m preaching. 


Rafford. 

( Softened , he laughs in sheepish good-nature.) 
Well, I kin stand short sermons. Wish they was 
all like that. ( Softens towards the Bishop.) Kin I 
do anything for yer? 


Bishop. 

Well, yes; two things, in fact. One is to get the 

drawer of that desk open. I can’t do a line of writing 

until it’s open. ^ 

r Rafford. 

(Most willingly makes a move toward the desk.) 

Sure. Here goes. ( Suddenly changes liis mind and 

looks cunningly at the Bishop, and is evidently afraid 

of a trick.) Yer ain’t got such a thing as a knife 

about ye, have yer? ^ 

J J Bishop. 

Certainly. ( Takes out knife and hands it to Raf¬ 
ford. Rafford makes by-play to indicate his cun¬ 
ning and fear of a trap; takes the knife; goes clum¬ 
sily to work. The Bishop adjusts his glasses and 
watches him admiringly , Rafford all the while pre¬ 
tending.) Well, now, that is most skillful and in¬ 
genious ! 



82 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


(With a clumsy heave of intentional mist alee Raf¬ 
ford breaks off the blade.) 

Rafford. 

{Laughs clumsily.) 

There! Humph! It’s no use. I ain’t no good any 
more. My hand’s as clumsy as a horse’s hoof. 
Bishop. 

{Checks him.) 

Never mind, my dear fellow. {Laughs playfully.) 

It’s just as well. The fact is, I just remember I 

promised Miss Tate I wouldn’t look into the drawer. 

But there’s another thing I want you to do. And 

I’m afraid my eagerness made me very unkind just 

now. It’s to help Miss Tate open her safe. {Laughs.) 

She’s the best of women, but she has no head for 

figures. She’s forgotten the combination. {Laughs 

innocently.) 

u 7 Rafford. 

{Stiffens up.) 

Well, I can’t help yer! I ain’t cracked a safe these 
five years. They’ve changed th’ whole game. Sorry, 
I can’t do it. 

Bishop. 

There, I’ve offended you again. Well, never mind. 
She’ll have to get a man from New York. 


Rafford. 

{Sharply.) 

She’s goin’ ter do that, is she? 

Bishop. 

{Innocently.) 

Of course. We must prove that the emeralds are 
still there. 

Rafford. 

{Sullenly.) 

Oh! Well—sorry, but I can’t help yer. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


83 


Bishop. 

There now. I’m just as well pleased. In fact, it 

is a great satisfaction to know you ham forgotten 

your—your ( embarrassed ) technical skill, shall we 

say? (Laughs and pats Rafford on the shoulder.) 

You see, you couldn’t be tempted now. It’s a great 

blessing. .. 

° Rafford. 

{Sullenly.) 

Huh! I dunno s’much about that. 


Bishop. 

But I must not bother you any longer. {Yawns 
and shows signs of weariness.) And as I can’t do any 
writing, I find I am really quite tired. I think I’ll go 
and lie down and have a little nap. You’ll—you’ll 
excuse me. {Goes out left door.) 

(Rafford, left alone , goes and looks after the 
Bishop, then to window , then looks around. Then 
he goes quickly to desk and is working at it 
when —) 

Ned comes in at right window. 


Ned. 

Ah! Keeping your hand in ? 

Rafford. 

{Startled.) 

Oh, it’s you, is it? 

Ned. 

Yes, it’s I. And I’ve found a way out of the 

wooc ^ s * Rafford. 

{Sullenly.) 

Huh! Fer you—or fer me? 

Ned. 


For both of us. 



84 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Rafford. 

( Morosely.) 

Well, I know my way out. 

Ned. 

{Sternly.) 

Now, look here. Don’t cut up rough! This plan 

is a good one. ^ 

& Kafford. 

{Still sullenly.) 

Huh! Better’n yer last, I hope! I’m a-listenin’. 
Ned. 

You can have the emeralds—provided you get far 
enough away with them, so that neither Locke nor 
anyone else shall ever find you or the stones— 
Rafford. 

{Has put his hand unconsciously upon the desk over 
the drawer.) 

Huh! Easy said. But where are the stones? 

Ned. 

Right under your hand. (Rafford starts as if the 
drawer were on fire.) 

Rafford. 

Ah, none o’ yer kiddin’. Why, the bishop just— 
Ned. 

{Interrupts.) 

I tell you, the stones are there in that drawer. 
Rafford. 

All right. {Looks about for something to open the 
desk with.) 

Ned. 

{Checks him.) 

Now, now—no hurry. {Meaningly.) Locke may 
come in any minute. It wouldn’t be healthy for you 
to have the emeralds in your hands. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


85 


Rafford. 

(Draws back reluctantly.) 

Well, what then? There won’t be no chance when 
he does come. Get ’em now, I say. ( Starts to study 

the drawer again.) 

' Ned. 

No, no! Now, listen. I’m going to show you how 
to get the emeralds, and at the same time keep Locke 
off your trail until you are clean away. 


Rafford. 

(Grins with glee.) 

Say, you must have a good one up yer sleeve. 
Ned. 

I have. 

Kafford. 

{Suspiciously .) 

How about the old girl? 

Ned. 

Don’t worry about her. I’ll fix her, too. 


Rafford. 

{Grins again.) 

You’re a wonder, you are. 

Ned. 

You’ll say so, when I tell you. But first you must 
promise you’ll get away for good and get those 
emeralds out of the way, too. Do you understand? 

Rafford. 

Sure. I understand. But what about Miss Tate? 


Ned. 

Well, I’ll let you into a secret. Miss Tate thinks 
more of the bishop than she does of the emeralds. 
She knows the stories are in that desk, and she is 



86 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


afraid Locke will make it unpleasant for him. So 
she has agreed that if I can get them out of the way, 
she will be satisfied. 

Rafford. 

Huh! Good enough fer you. How about me? 
If I’m caught, it’s burglary. 

Ned. 

That’s the point. It’s not burglary. It’s just a 
personal gift from Miss Tate. 

Rafford. 

(Laughs sardonically.) 

Oh, come off. That’s too good. 

Ned. 

Not at all. You’ll take the gems right before Miss 
Tate’s eyes, and she will consent. That’s no bur¬ 
glary. Rafford. 

( Puzzled .) 

Well, all I can say is, it needs some explainin’. 

Ned. 

That’s the point. And you will have to do exactly 
as I say, and act quickly, too. (Stops and listens.) 
Ah! Somebody coming. Go and wait for me in the 
garden. (Rafford goes out right window .) 

Mrs. Chadsey enters left door . 

Ned. 

(To Mrs. Chadsey.) 

Ah, how’s the bishop? 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Asleep. I hope he won’t be disturbed. He’s tired 
out worrying about his manuscript. 




TOO MANY CROOKS 


87 


Ned. 

Aunty, Miss Tate has told me. (Taps the desk 
significantly.) Mrs Chadsey 

Oh, isn’t it dreadful? What can we do? That 
stupid Locke will search the house. 


Ned. 

Now, don’t worry. I’ve promised Miss Tate Vll 
protect the bishop. I’ve got a plan —(He is inter¬ 
rupted when —) 

Kitty enters hastily through right window. She 
rushes to them at center. 

Kitty. 

Ned! Mrs. Chadsey! Locke is coming— 


Mrs. Chadsey. 

(In nervous flutter.) 

Oh, what shall we do ? 

Ned. 

You stay here and wait for Locke. I must see 
Rafford. I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t ask any 
questions until I come. (He rushes out right win¬ 
dow.) 

J Kitty. 

Well, of all the tangles I ever saw, this is the 

worst. I wish aunty had dreamed the emeralds were 

stolen. •» r 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

(Sadly.) 

I am afraid the dear bishop is in serious trouble. 


Kitty. 

Oh, nonsense. If worse comes to worst, I can 
save the bishop. , r ^ 

iYlRS. UHADSE'i • 

(Impressively.) 

What? Hasn’t Sarah told you? 



88 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Kitty. 

What? ,, n 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

That she and I found the emeralds in that desk. 
Kitty. 

Good heavens, no! How did they get there? No 
wonder Ned and I— 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

What? ^ 

Kitty. 

Oh, nothing. ( She has turned toward right 'win¬ 
dow.) Here comes aunty. Now for an explosion. 

Miss Tate enters through right window , in great 
excitement. 


Miss Tate. 

My dear Matilda—( she is out of breath). That 
man Locke— I just left him. ( She sees Kitty.) 
Kitty, you here? Go home at once. I must speak 
with Matilda privately. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Oh, she knows all about it. 

Miss Tate. 

{Amazed.) 

Well, if that isn’t like you! But never mind. {To 
Kitty.) See that you don’t tell. {To Mrs. Chad¬ 
sey.) Locke’s coming. He’ll search the house. 
How shall we explain? 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

It’s a frightful situation. 

Miss Tate. 

Frightful? It’s worse. It’s disgraceful. Well, he 
shall only find those jewels over my dead body—or 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


89 


his. (Goes to the desk and rattles drawer in despair .) 
Oh, (to Mrs. Chadsey) why did you throw away 
that key? 

Kitty. 

Now, aunty, you must be quiet. If Locke sees you 
like that he’ll know something is wrong. 

Miss Tate. 

( Tragically .) 

I don’t care what he sees. He’ll see bloodshed right 
here if he tries to touch this desk. The dear bishop! 

Kitty. 

Ned says he’s got a plan— 


Miss Tate. 

( Contemptuously .) 

Ned, Ned! I wonder you can want to marry such 
a nincompoop. He promised me to get those accursed 
emeralds out of the way. He’s done nothing. Pshaw. 
Ned! 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Now, Sarah, give the boy a chance. Let’s hear his 
plan. 

•Ned is seen entering through right window as 
Miss Tate speaks. He waits by the window for a 


moment. 

Miss Tate. 

To think of such a useless creature for a son- 


in-law— 


Kitty. 


Son-in-law ? 

Miss Tate. 

Well, nephew-in-law—or whatever it is that he 
wants to be. Here we are, three perfectly wretched 
and hopeless women—trying to protect the dear 
bishop from an outrageous suspicion—and he — 



90 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Ned. 

(Comes down.) 

He is on hand to do the trick. (To Miss Tate.) I 
know I deserve the richest epithets even in your large 
vocabulary. But, nevertheless, I think I see a way 
out, if you and aunty and Kitty— 

Miss Tate. 

Talk fast, young man. Locke will be here any 
minute— 

Ned. 

Good; good! I want him here. I haven’t time to 
tell you the details, but remember this. You must 
all keep quiet. Back me up in all I say. And don’t 
be surprised at anything you see. 

Miss Tate. 

Good gracious, you give me the creeps. What 
is it? 

Ned. 

It’s just a sort of a stunt, got up for Locke’s 
benefit. We’Ve no time for a rehearsal—but we must 
set the stage at all events. Kitty, will you turn 
down those lamps? 

Kitty. 

(Goes and does so; stage dim.) 

Shall I play some creepy music? (Goes to piano 
and plays.) 

Ned. 

Good. Now, aunty, are you sure the bishop is 
asleep ? 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

Yes. 

Ned. 

Then you stand near that door, and if you hear 
him moving, go at once. Keep him away from this 
room until I tell you. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


91 


(Mrs. Chadsey goes and opens left door , goes out 
and comes back , closing door gently.) 


Miss Tate. 

( Nervously.) 

Well, I hope all this will come to something. It 
ought to impress that fat fool in some way. Humph! 
He’ll think we’re holding a spiritualistic seance. I’m 
as nervous as a witch. (To Ned.) Can’t you give 
me something to do? 


Ned. 

( While speaking arranges the chairs , etc., to his 
liking.) 

Yes. Back me up in all I say. And remember— 

all of you—not a word of surprise at anything 

you see. ^ 

Kitty. 

(Is playing softly on piano; speaks in a kind of 
warning singsong in keeping with music.) 

He comes. I hear his velvet footfall! (Locke is 
heard with heavy steps outside. Kitty runs on in a 
rapid recitation.) If you’ve got any more stage di¬ 
rections you’d better hurry. 


(There is a sound in distance of a dog howling 

at intervals.) XT 

J Ned. 

No, there’s nothing more—only remember, it all 
depends upon your being perfectly quiet. (Kitty 
keeps on playing.) 

Locke appears at right window. Ned goes over 

and rings the bell in left wall , then turns and sees 

Locke. xt 

Ned. 

Hello, Locke. Come in. But don’t make any more 
noise than you can help. The bishop is asleep. 



92 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Locke. 

(Enters in a pugnacious fashion.) 

Ha!—Bishop sick? 

Rafford enters right door. 

Rafford. 

Did you ring for me, sir? 

Ned. 

Yes. That dog has been chained up all day. I 
don’t want him to disturb the bishop. Take him for 
a walk, that’s a good fellow. 

Rafford. 

Very good, sir. ( Goes out to kitchen.) 

Ned. 

(To Locke.) 

Won’t you sit here by the fire? ( Holds the big 
chair ready. Locke looks round a moment question- 
ingly.) You don’t mind sitting in the dark? We 
were having a little music. Oh, never mind the ladies. 
We know you have business here. You’ll have to wait 
until the bishop finishes his nap— (Locke sits.) 

Rafford appears outside right window, coming 
from right; looks in for a moment, then cautiously 
departs, going left. 

Locke. 

(Interrupts obstinately.) 

I can’t wait all night. I can do what I came to 
do without the bishop. 

Ned. 

(Sweetly.) 

And that is? T 

Locke. 

Look for them emeralds ! 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


93 


Ned. 

Well, you won’t mind waiting a few moments. 
Your footsteps are not of the lightest, you know, and 
we’re all keeping very quiet to let the bishop sleep. 

(Pulls out a cigar.) By the way, have a cigar. 
(Locke takes it ungraciously and bites off the end. 
Ned lights it for him and then sits down near 
Locke, composing himself as for a long wait.) We 
were talking, when you came, about dreams and 
ghosts. Are you interested in such things? 

Locke. 

{Stolidly.) 

I never dream. 

Ned. 

Ah, I remember. So you said. It’s a pity. How 
about sleep-walking? 

Kitty. 

(Still softly playing; speaks over her shoulder , 
laughing.) 

Don’t be personal, Ned. Some people are sensi¬ 
tive. Remember, the worm will turn. 

Miss Tate. 

Humph! Sleep-walking, indeed! He doesn’t know 
anything else. 

Locke. 

(Stupidly.) 

I don’t see how. 

Ned. 

(Laughs ironically.) 

No? Sleep-walkers never do. But, to be serious, 
what I’ve been saying opens the way for a painful 
and humiliating confession. I’m going to tell you 
because, with your delicate sensibilities, you are sure 
to appreciate the connection between what I am 



94 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


about to say and the mysterious affair of Miss Tate’s 

emeralds. T 

Locke. 

’Tain’t no myste'ry to me. 


Ned. 

No? Well, it was for a while to us. But we’re 
beginning to see light now. In fact, Miss Tate has 
come to the conclusion, as we all have, that the 
emeralds have never left the safe—that they are 
there now- ^ ^ 

( Interrupts .) 

Yes, the bishop is right. I must have dreamed the 
whole thing. I can’t remember the combination of 
the safe—so I can’t prove it— 


Locke. 

( Grimly .) 

We’ll prove that, all right. 

Ned. 

Yes; your man from New York. But meanwhile, 
if what I am about to tell you should explain the 
bishop’s apparent implication in the affair, I sup- 
pose you would be willing to accept Miss Tate’s word 
that the safe has not been opened. 

Locke. 

I ain’t committin’ myself in no way. I believes 
what I sees—nothin’ else. 


Ned. 

(Rises and picks up a hook from table.) 

My excellent Locke! Splendid! Well, as I was 
saying, I am about to confess something to you 
which we all feel you will respect as a confidence— 
and which I tell you only in order to clear your mind 
about this emerald business— 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


95 


Locke. 

Well, what is it? , T 

Ned. 

(As if in embarrassment .) 

It’s this. It’s quite painful for me to tell you. My 
uncle, the bishop, does now and then walk in his 
sleep. (Kitty strikes a lugubrious chord upon the 

pian0 ) Mrs. Chadsey. 

Ned! How can you? 

Ned. 

( Quickly.) 

My dear aunty! (Significantly.) I thought we 
agreed that you would allow me to tell this in my 

° WnWay - MissTate. 

(Follows Ned’s lead.) 

Yes, Matilda. It’s much better he should know 
the truth. His keen intelligence will at once pene¬ 
trate our purpose. Ned 

(Banteringly, to Locke.) 

Eh? You see? Well? 


Locke. 

No—no! I don’t see. An’ I ain’t a-goin’ to be 
bamboozled by no talk. 

Ned. 

That’s good. I’m delighted to deal with a man 
of penetration. (He throws upon the table the book 
he has been holding and , unseen by Locke, looks 
anxiously at left window. At the same time he makes 
a warning gesture to all of them—especially to Mrs. 
Chadsey — to whom he speaks warningly.) Now, 
Aunt Matilda, don’t get nervous. I’m only doing 
what is necessary to convince Locke of the bishop’s 
innocence. (Sits composedly and resumes his speech.) 



96 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Now, when one is given to sleep-walking— (Raf¬ 
ford, back left, clears his throat in imitation of the 
Bishop) —but I do believe the bishop is coming. 
That’s too bad. I hadn’t finished. Now, silence, for 
heaven’s sake; not a word to him of what I’ve just 
said. 

Rafford, disguised as the Bishop, comes in 
through left window, as if walking in his sleep. He 
has his eyes open and is walking very slowly. Mrs. 
Chadsey is much agitated. Ned goes over and 
whispers to her. She subsides quietly. All the rest 
show restrained surprise . 

Locke. 

Evenin’, bishop. ( Begins , ponderously, to rise.) 
Now we kin get to business. All this fool talk. 

Ned. 

(Puts his hand, in alarm, upon Locke’s shoulder, 
and holds him down.) 

Sh-h-h! You mustn’t speak to him. I believe he’s 
asleep now. ( Goes across and passes his hand in 
front of Rafford’s face.) Yes, he is asleep. Sh-h-h. 
Not a word to him. It’s dangerous. But he doesn’t 
hear us talking among ourselves. See. His eyes are 
open, but he doesn’t see us. (Ned goes back to guard 
Locke.) 

(Rafford moves to the desk, goes to the drawer 
and begins deftly to unlock it with a piece of wire.) 

Miss Tate. 

(Entering into the affair.) 

The dear bishop! He’s worried about his manu¬ 
script even in his sleep. He’s been trying all the keys 
in the house to get that drawer open— 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


97 


(Rafford has the drawer open. He takes out a 
big bundle of manuscript, and hiding the action from 
Locke, who sits amazed, he takes the red case also 
out and puts it out of sight among the manuscript; 
then closes the drawer, and goes quietly out left win¬ 
dow, still walking as if in a trance .) 

Ned. 

There! You see? Lucky we didn’t speak to him. 
I didn’t expect the bishop himself would prove what 
I just said, but you see that it’s true. 

Locke. 

{Stupidly amazed.) 

Yes, I see. But you don’t expect me to think th’ 
bishop walked in his sleep over to Miss Tate’s, an’ 
opened that safe, an’— 

Miss Tate. 

Of course not, you stupid man. But we expect 
you to have sense enough to believe that when the 
bishop told you his dream, he really had a dream— 

Ned. 

And perhaps he did actually walk some distance— 
into this room for instance—and perhaps he went 
through the motions of robbing a safe, so that it was 
very strongly impressed upon his mind— 

{At this point Mrs. Chadsey shows signs of alarm 
and goes out at left door.) 

Miss Tate. 

{Quickly backing up Ned.) 

And I suppose you will also admit that I might 
have had a dream—walked in my sleep—and imag¬ 
ined that I saw a burglar at my safe. 



98 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Locke. 

( Confounded, but obstinate.) 

Well, no. I don't see. If you go so far as that, I 
don’t see but what I’ve got to suspect th’ bishop jest 
as much as before. Th’ law don’t take no account of 
sleep-walkin’— 

Jenny rushes in excitedly from the kitchen. 


Jenny. 

Oh, Mrs. Chadsey! ^ 

(Frightened and half-aside.) 

Good heavens—Jenny! I forgot her. ( Goes over 

to her.) T 

7 Jenny. 

Mrs. Chadsey! Percy! 

Ned. 

(Seizes her hand and puts his hand over her mouth.) 
Sh-h! You mustn’t talk so loud. The bishop— 

Jenny. 

(In distress.) 

But Percy—he’s gone! 

Locke. 

( Suspiciously , rises and watches Ned and Jenny.) 
Who’s Percy? 

{Laughs with quick readiness.) 

It’s only the dog. Don’t be foolish, Jenny. Percy 
has just gone for a walk. {Hurries on , and as he 
does so pushes Jenny toward right door and says 
significantly to her.) Don’t you see Locke, the con¬ 
stable? Run along, that’s a good woman. 

Jenny. 

{Looks at Locke; becomes quiet.) , 

Oh! {Goes out right door.) 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


99 


Miss Tate. 

(Coming hastily to the rescue.) 

Now, (to Locke) I suppose you are satisfied that 
the bishop’s dream was a real dream? 

Locke. 

(Puzzled.) 

I dunno. No, I ain’t satisfied. I never dream. 


Ned. 

(Seeing the left door open; the bishop is heard clear¬ 
ing his throat.) 

Ah; the bishop again. (All look.) 

The Bishop enters left door , presumably talking to 
Mrs. Chadsey, who follows him in. 

Bishop. 

(Speaks in sprightly tone.) 

Now, my dear Matilda, I really must see my good 
friend Locke and try to persuade him— (Sees 
Locke.) Ah, good-evening. (Laughs playfully.) 
So you’re really determined to search the house for 
those emeralds, which I tell you are at this moment 
reposing quietly in Miss Tate’s safe? 


Locke. 

Well, I dunno’ what to think after what I’ve just 

seen! XT 

Ned. 

(In consternation , to Locke.) 

Now, remember—as a gentleman, you must not. 
Miss Tate. 

(Also in much distress.) 

Yes; if you have any particle of consideration for 

the bishop. 

r Kitty. 

(To Locke.) 

You beast , keep still! 



100 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Bishop. 

{Amazed.) 

Really! (Looks around in mild reproof.) I am 
astonished at your manners to a guest. 

Miss Tate. 

Guest? Pig! u 

° Bishop. 

Well, well, well; you, too, Miss Tate! But what is 
it all about? Surely I may have an explanation. 

Locke. 

Well, you see, bishop, these folks don’t want me 

to explain, an’— . T 

r Ned. 

(Bracing himself.) 

Uncle, it’s rather unfortunate that Locke hap¬ 
pened in just at this time. And it is equally un¬ 
fortunate that you were awakened from your nap. 
(Laughs uneasily.) You see, you’ve been walking in 
your sleep. Bishop. 

(Amazed.) 

I? Walking in my sleep? Not at all, I do assure 
you. What an astounding statement! (Half-amused 
and half -indignant; to Locke.) Have they been 
palming off this cock-and-bull story upon you? 

Locke. 

(Sullenly.) 

They don’t want me to tell. Let them. 

Bishop. 

Well? I’m waiting. (All remain silent for a mo¬ 
ment.) Most bewildering. Walking in my sleep. (To 
Locke.) They seem to be dumb. 

Locke. 

I seen you doin’ it—right here. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


101 


Bishop. 

(Appealing to Ned.) 

Really, Ned? NeJ) . 

Now, uncle, we didn’t want you to know. But you 
really did come into this room a few moments ago, 
and take some papers from the desk— 

Bishop. 

My notes ! ( Goes over to the desk.) How singular. 
( Growing interested.) And did I really do that? 
(Appeals to Miss Tate.) Miss Tate? 

Miss Tate. 

Yes, it’s true. „ 

Kitty. 

It’s quite true, bishop. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

( Reluctantly .) 

I can’t dispute what Ned says. 

Bishop. 

(Grows quite excited and interested.) 

Well, well! This is even more remarkable than my 
dream. I must believe you, since you all agree upon 
it. But I am dumbfounded. Well— (to Locke, laugh¬ 
ing in innocent amusement) , I suppose you’ll believe 
almost anything about me now. 

Locke. 

I dunno what to believe. But there’s one thing 
I kin find out— (rises to go) —if them jools is still 
in Miss Tate’s safe, as you and she says. 

Bishop. 

(Pleased.) 

Oh, Miss Tate says so, eh? Of course it’s the 
only solution, as I have said all along. 



102 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Miss Tate. 

(With an air of concluding the matter.) 

Of course. I have just told him so. I hope he’s 
satisfied now—and we can go peaceably to our beds. 
I’m glad the silly affair is settled at last. 

Locke. 

(Has arrived at right window; looks at his watch.) 

Well, I’ve just got time to go to th’ station to 
meet that man from the safe company. He'll find 
out. Miss Tat'e, perhaps you’d wish to be present? 

Miss Tate. 

(In consternation.) 

Good heavens! You don’t believe me yet. You 
shall do no such thing. Beware how you invade my 
home! (In collapse .) 

Locke. 

(Holds out paper.) 

I’ve got my warrant. (Goes out right window.) 
Bishop. 

(Goes and takes overcoat and hat in haste from rack.) 

Of course; it’s the only way. Miss Tate, I’m sure 
you’ll be reasonable. You won’t regret it— 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

(Interrupts.) 

What are you going to do? 

Bishop. 

I’m going to the station. 

Ned. 

What good will that do ? 

Kitty. 

You really ought not. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


103 


Mrs. Chadsey. 

You’ll surely catch your death. 

Miss Tate. 

( Tragically.) 

You are going to something worse than death—I 

eseech you! _ 

- JjISHOP. 

{Puzzled but determined.) 

This really is most strange. Why should I not 
witness the proof of my own theory? I shall certainly 
go. {He goes out after Locke. All look at each 
other in a daze , each exclaiming after his own emo¬ 
tions. ) , T ™ 

' Miss Tate. 

{In a state of exaggerated collapse.) 

Well, I give it up ! (Turns upon Ned.) Now what 

have you to say for yourself? After putting us 

through all this heartrending mockery—we are worse 

off than before! , r ~ 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

The poor bishop ! 

r Kitty. 

Ned, what a mess you’ve made of the whole thing! 
I could just cry. {Sits down in despair.) 

Ned. 

{With assumed confidence and bravado.) 

Well, there’s one thing certain. They won’t find 
the emeralds! Rafford is good enough for that. 


Miss Tate. 

So, young man, I have given away my necklace to 
that reformed burglar of yours, just to make a 
scapegoat of the bishop. Not if I can help it! {Rises 
with determination.) I did hope the affair was settled 
and I might go to my bed like a civilized woman. I 
shall defend that safe with my life. I’d' rather be 



104 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


murdered by that fat constable than to have the 
bishop suspected. A woman has some rights, I should 
suppose, in her own—( hesitates , then finishes explo¬ 
sively) bungalow! (Goes out right window.) 

Kitty. 

{In weary resignation.) 

Well; I suppose I must go, too. {Makes ready.) 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

{In a flutter of nervousness.) 

You’ll have to take me. I’m so anxious about the 
bishop. 

(Ned and Kitty are down center.) 

Ned. 

{In despair , as they prepare to go out.) 

Oh, Kitty, Kitty, what will come of it all? 

{As they all stand about the right window\ ready 
to go out —) 

Jenny enters from kitchen in tears. All turn and 
look at her. She has on her hat and coat. 

Jenny. 

{Speaks tragically.) 

Mr. Ned, I can’t find Percy. What have you done 

with him? , T 

Ned. 

( Throwing up his arms in desperation .) 

Oh, {exasperated) Percy! {Laughs ironically.) 
He’s all right. I wish we were all as well out of it as 
he is. 

{They all go out right window. Jenny stands 
wringing her hands and looking after them.) 

Curtain. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


Third Act. 

Scene : Living room of Miss Tate's bungalow, the 
same evening. A generous corner of the room is seen. 
Up right is a large double French window , opening 
on to porch. In the corner, which is up center, there 
is a large rough fireplace. In the middle of the left 
wall is an inside door. In the same wall, or in front 
of it, is a small steel safe. A table and two chairs are 
left of center. The room shows evidence of being dis¬ 
mantled. The furniture is disarranged, and right of 
center, well down stage, there is a pile of trunks and 
suitcases, closed and strapped, and several packing 
boxes. There is a lamp on the table, and another on 
the mantel. A box of matches is on the table. 

At rise, the only illumination is by the moonlight 
outside. No lamps are lit. Jenny is seen outside the 
window. She comes in stealthily, looks about nerv¬ 
ously, bumps against furniture, also against pile of 
trunks, and finally strikes a match from box which 
she finds on table. She is seen to have the red case in 
her hands. She goes to the safe and tries the combi¬ 
nation, with confidence at first, then hastily, then 
with nervous alarm, looking frequently at the win¬ 
dow. She gives up in despair, turns and looks about 
the room. Miss Tate and Kitty are heard talking 
off stage. Jenny is alarmed, runs about with the 
case and finally throws it behind the pile of trunks. 
This must be very clear to the audience. Jenny then 
runs to corner up stage, and stands motionless 
while — 


105 



106 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Miss Tate and Kitty enter at the window. Then 
Jenny cautiously goes out the window, unseen by 
them. 

Miss Tate. 

(Nervously pausing at center, evidently out of 

breath, heaves a sigh of weariness and disgust.) 
Ah! 

Kitty. 

(Lights a lamp and looks about.) 

There. You see? Nobody here. 

Miss Tate. 

I’m sure I saw a light. 

Kitty. 

(Lights another lamp.) 

It’s nerves. 

Miss Tate. 

(Seating herself upon a low trunk.) 

We should have brought a lantern. I didn’t sup¬ 
pose I’d have to stumble about that dreadful woods 
again. 

Kitty. 

(Laughs mischievously.) 

You’ll have to stumble back again. 

Miss Tate. 

I’d rather sit on this trunk until morning. ( Sighs 
dolorously.) I never expected to visit this scene of 
tragedy again. Ugh! What a beast that constable 
is. The idea of his refusing to take my word. 

Kitty. 

{Laughs.) 

I don’t wonder. At first you were cocksure they 
had been stolen. Then you were equally positive 
they had not. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


107 


Miss Tate. 

( Peevishly.) 

What business is it of his if I change my mind? 
Oh, why couldn’t we get that desk unlocked? 
Kitty. 

You couldn’t put them back in the safe if you had 
them. Don’t worry. The safe company will never 
send a man up here at this time of night. 

Miss Tate. 

Oh, if I could be sure of that. ( Nervously irri¬ 
tated.) But where on earth are Matilda and Ned? 
What did she come for, anyway? 

Kitty. 

Don’t be peevish, aunty. Poor Mrs. Chadsey! She’s 
having her punishment, toiling through the woods. 
(Goes to window.) Here they come! 

Mrs. Chadsey and Ned enter from window. Mrs. 
Chadsey is very much exhausted. Ned removes her 
wraps and places a chair for her at left. 

Ned. 

(As they enter and cross.) 

Here we are at last. Sit down and rest. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

(Sits, exhausted.) 

What a walk! I never could have done it but for 
the bishop. Mbs Tate 

(Peevishly.) 

I don’t mean to be hard-hearted, Matilda, but I 
really don’t see why you came. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

(Helplessly.) 

I must know the worst! 



108 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Miss Tate. 

(With asperity.) 

I don’t see the necessity. But here we are chatting. 

What’s to be done? XT 

Ned. 

Oh, things aren’t so desperate. Bafford and the 
emeralds are miles away. Locke can’t implicate the 
bishop if he doesn’t find them. 


Miss Tate. 

He has implicated him. He’ll talk all over the 
place. And then—the newspapers! ( Gesture of de¬ 
spair.) . Mrs. Chadsey. 

(Sneezes gently.) 

I beg your pardon. 


Miss Tate. 

(Glares at her.) 

What’s the matter? Don’t sit in a draught. 


It isn’t a 
the air. 

Nonsense. 


Mrs. Chadsey. 

( Protestingly .) 

draught. It’s something irritating in 

Miss Tate. 

Hay-fever, perhaps. 


Ned. 

(Sneezes.) 

No. I’ve got it, too. 

Kitty. 

(Laughs.) 

Aha—it’s the pepper! 


Mrs. Chadsey. 
(In mild surprise.) 
Pepper? Why pepper? 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


109 


Kitty. 

Aunty’s been packing her things with it. 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

I never heard of such a thing. 

Miss Tate. 

(Rises and answers in half-abstracted explanation.) 

It’s better than moth-balls. My mother used it, so 
did my grandmother. Things don’t smell when you 
unpack. {Wanders nervously over to the safe .) 

Ned. 

{Suppressing a sneeze.) 

It’s far more unpleasant when you pack. {Sneezes.) 

Miss Tate. 

{Turns upon them in indignant protest.) 

Good heavens! When the bishop’s reputation is 
tottering can you talk of pepper P —{She rattles the 
knob of the safe, scolding it.) Oh, why did I ever 
have you brought here? 

Ned. 

{Has wandered over to window and looks out.) 

Perhaps Locke has given it up. Here comes a car 
along the road. {Sound of car.) It’s the bishop. 

Miss Tate. 

{Anxiously.) 

Alone? {They await his coming nervously.) 

Ned. 

Yes! 

Bishop dejectedly enters through window . 

Bishop. 

{Apologetically .) 

So sorry to bring you here for nothing. Locke’s 
man isn’t coming. 



110 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Good! 


All. 

(Together.) 

Bishop. 

(In mild surprise.) 

Good? It’s a great disappointment to me. Locke 
seems to have given it up. While we were at the sta¬ 
tion he thought he saw Rafford—said he wanted 1 to 
speak to him. I told him he was mistaken. 

Ned. 

(Anxiously.) 

Did he catch him? I mean—did he speak to him? 
Bishop. 

I don’t know. He went off in the dark half an 

hour ago and left me to wait for the train. The 

train was late— .... 

Miss Tate. 

(In sprightly tone.) 

Well, I suppose we really may all go back now. 
I’m tired out. 

Bishop. 

(Mildly protesting.) 

We can hardly do that. It would look very odd— 
as though we Were afraid. Locke will wonder— 

Miss Tate. 

Oh, let him wonder! 


Bishop. 

(Persuasively.) 

Now don’t let us be foolish. You ought to be 
willing to wait if I am. As Locke hasn’t come, I’ll 
just run back in the car and tell him his man didn’t 
show up. I won’t be long. (Starts to go.) 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

(Protestingly.) 

Is it necessary? 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


111 


Bishop. 

( Explaining.) 

Yes; unless you would rather wait here until he 

comes. ,, 

Ned. 

( Agreeing .) 

Oh, let’s have it over. I’ll go with you, uncle. 
Bishop. 

Not at all. You must stay with the ladies and 
explain to Locke if he comes. ( Going out.) I’ll be 
back directly. ( Goes out window'.) 

Kitty. 

( Wearily.) 

Well, that helps some. (Yawns.) But, goodness, 
I’m sleepy. Ned . 

But what about Rafford? He promised to get 
away. Do you suppose Locke’s caught him? ( They 
are all at center in weary dejection when —) 

Rafford enters hurriedly and anxiously through 
window. All turn in astonishment. 

Ned. 

Good Lord! You here? You ought to be miles 

awa -^' Rafford. 

(In anxious yet rather exultant explanation.) 
Couldn’t do it, governor. I tried. But I guess 
Jenny’s worth more than the emeralds. I couldn’t 
d° Miss Tate. 

(Impatiently.) 

Well? Well? What have you done with them? 
Rafford. 

(Grins knowingly and confidently.) 

They’re all right. I seen to that. 




112 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Kitty. 

Why so mysterious? Come, 
Where are they? 


come, out with it. 


Rafford. _ 

{In great exultation and irony.) 

Where they was all along, as the bishop says, in 
the safe. i 00 p a f t\ e safe.) 


Miss Tate. 

In the safe? XT 

Ned. 

{In great glee.) 

Good old Rafford! Ha, I hope Locke will come, 

nOW * Miss Tate. 

But I don’t understand in the least. What do you 
mean by in the safe? 

Rafford. 

{Eagerly.) 

What I says. D’you want to see ’em? 

Miss Tate. 

Well, I should think I do. 

Rafford. 

Right you are! ( Goes to safe.) I’ll soon show 
you! {All cluster eagerly about him. He gives a few 
quick turns and opens the safe.) Ah! Here we are, 
right as— {Puts in his hand and finds nothing.) 
Well, I’m— {Checks himself, confused.) 

Ned. 

{Severely.) 

Look here, my man, this is a poor sort of a joke. 
What do you mean by it? 

Rafford. 

( Confused.) 

Why, why—I— {Just then he is seized with a 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


113 


sneeze . He is answered by a ferocious sneeze from 
behind the trunks. All turn toward the pile of 
trunks .) It can’t be Jenny! 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

( Nervously.) 

Good gracious, I shall faint! 

Miss Tate. 

(With tragic manner.) 

Another tragedy! I shall collapse. (To Ned.) 
Now, sir, let me see what stuff you are made of. 
(Points to trunks.) Look behind those trunks! 

Rafford. 

(In some trepidation.) 

I don’t like the looks of it, governor. 

Ned. 

(Commands him with a gesture.) 

Come! (He and Rafford pull apart the pile of 
trunks , which are so arranged as to disclose , when 
pulled apart —) 

The figure of Locke, seated upon a low trunk , 
with his back against another , sound asleep. Upon 
his stomach , clasped by his unconscious hands , is the 
red case. Locke slowly , stupidly and sleepily 
rises and mechanically grasps the case , coming down 
stage, followed by the others in silence. 

Locke. 

(Not more than half-awake.) 

Ah! I fell asleep. I was watching the safe— 
(Becomes conscious of the red case , starts , opens it 
clumsily , looks amazed; all cluster about him.) 

Kitty. 

(In sharp suspicion.) 

The emeralds! 




114 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


(Rafford and Ned draw up stage , away from the 
others , in hurried consultation.) 

Miss Tate. 

{In desperate bewilderment.) 

Well, more mystery! 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

How did he get them? 

Locke. 

( Who has partly recovered .) 

Why, I — I —{Holds out case to Miss Tate.) 
Are them your emeralds? 

Miss Tate. 

{Sardonically and with hysterical laugh.) 

I like that! You booby! Merciful powers! What 
else should they be? {She takes them from him.) 

(Ned and Rafford come dozen stage , evidently 
with a purpose.) Ned 

{With great severity.) 

Well, Locke, what have you to say for yourself? 


Rafford. 

{Laughs with malicious sai'casm.) 

Yes, so I says. Tryin’ to get innocent folks into 
trouble! 

Ned. 

{To Locke, sardonically.) 

I really didn’t think you were clever enough for 
this. {In mock deference.) I take my hat off to you. 

Locke. 

{Sullenly puzzled.) 

Wot d’ye mean? N ED 

{Solemnly.) 

Good heavens! {Accusingly and zmth savage em- 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


115 


phasis.) You villain! {Laughs.) Oh, come, don’t 

try to brazen it out any longer. It’s as plain as day. 

You robbed the safe — found it was getting too hot 

for you — so you came and tried to put them 

back — ,. 

Kitty. 

(With quick wit.) 

So that’s the end of your clues? I thought there 
was too much of the mud tracks business. 

Miss Tate. 

(To Locke, in great indignation.) 

And you dared to pretend you suspected the 

bishop! x 

r Locke. 

(Ponderously.) 

I only done my duty. I— 

Ned. 

(In raillery.) 

Oh, come off! You’ve played the stupid long 

enough — x 

& Locke. 

(Gradually begins to understand.) 

Wot? Ye don’t really think that I — 

Kitty. 

Come. You’ve had your fun out of this. Now 
we’ll have ours — 

Rafeord. 

( Laughs sardonically .) 

Huh! It’s twenty years hard labor if it’s a day. 
(Waves his hand around to indicate the others.) And 
with all these witnesses. (Shrugs his shoulders.) 
Huh! I don’t see what chance you got. 

Locke. 

(Ponderously indignant.) 

I’m the only constable in this town— 



116 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Kitty. 

(Mimicking him.) 

“An’ every one o’ them footprints leads straight to 
th’ bishop’s house!” ( Mockingly.) Oh-h-h, Locke— 

shame. Mrs. Chadsey. 

Kitty; you really must not pester the man. 

Miss Tate. 

Pester? I’d roast him alive, if I could! (To 
Locke, freezingly, and with an air of finality.) But 
you’d best go now. I don’t want the bishop to be dis¬ 
turbed. I’ll see what the law 11 says to this later. 

Locke. 

Well, I’ll go—but— (Turns as if to go, then 
pauses.) Ned . 

By the way. Speaking of the bishop, it reminds 
me— (to all the others) what about his book? 

Miss Tate. 

Ah, to be sure. He’ll be broken-hearted— 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

His theory exploded just when he thought it would 
be proved. Ned 

I tell you what! This fat constable is getting off 
too easy. He shall help us prove the bishop’s theory. 
It would be too bad to spoil that last chapter. 

Locke. 

(Who has turned to go.) 

What d’ye mean? 

Ned. 

It’s plain enough. We’ll put the emeralds back in 
the safe and let the bishop find them. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


117 


Locke. 

( Obstinately.) 

I ain’t a-goin’ to agree to no such deception— 


Rafford. 

(Mockingly.) 

Huh! “Deception.” That’s a good one fer you! 
(Kitty has gone near the window.) 

Ned. 

(To Locke.) 

Yes, you will^ (Menacingly.) And see that you 
back us up when the bishop comes. 

Miss Tate. 

If you don’t—I’ll put you in state’s prison, if it 

costs a million! ^ 

Rafford. 

( Exultantly.) 

O-ho! “Th’ only constable in town,” eh? 

Kitty. 

I hear the car coming! 

(Sound of car outside. Ned takes the emeralds 
from Miss Tate, puts them into the safe and closes 
door of safe , turning the knob just as —) 

The Bishop comes in through window. 


Ned. 

Now let me manage it. 

Following the Bishop, who is quite excited , comes 
Jenny, who is worried , but sees Rafford and goes 

t0 him ■ Jenny. 

Percy! (Jenny and Rafford confer , up stage.) 
Locke. 

(Puzzled and trying to remember.) 

Huh? Percy? 



118 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Ned. 

( Meaningly , to Locke.) 

Locke—remember—“If it costs a million!” 

Bishop. 

(Pointing to Jenny.) 

I found her searching for Rafford—( Sees Locke.) 
Ah, so you’re here. Too bad your man didn’t come. 
(Remembers and puts his hand in his pocket .) By 
the way, here’s a telegram, Miss Tate. (Takes out 

telegram.) MissTate. 

A telegram? Oh, do read it for me, bishop. 

(Bishop proceeds to open it.) I know it’s some bad 

news. -p. 

Bishop. 

(Has read and shows his delight.) 

Aha! It’s the combination of the safe. 

Ned. 

Well, just in time, eh, Locke? (Locke is uneasy 

and sullen.) „ 

7 Bishop. 

Ha, now we shall see! ( Rubs his hands.) Miss 
Tate, won’t you open the safe? 

Miss Tate. 

(Maliciously.) 

Better let Locke do it. He’s the only skeptic. The 
rest of us know they’re there. 

Bishop. 

(Innocently.) 

Good. (Studying the telegram.) I’ll read off the 

numbers. T 

Locke. 

(Obstinately.) 

I ain’t a-goin’ to be no party to— 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


119 


Ned. 

Locke! ( Meaningly.) You won’t be discourteous 
to the bishop, I’m sure. 

Miss Tate. 

( Maliciously .) 

Especially since you have suspected him. 

(Locke struggles against it, but after a pause 
goes to safe.) Locke 

( Nervously , to Bishop.) 

Well? 

Bishop. 

( Excited , reads.) 

“Start at three.” 

Locke. 

(Working the dial .) 

Well? v 

\ ED. 

(M tschievously.) 

He loves this work. 

Kitty. 

( Mischievously .) 

Yes. It’s even better than mud tracks. 

Bishop. 

“Three turns to right.” 

Locke. 

(Working the dial .) 

Well? Ned. 

Do it cheerfully, Locke. 

Miss Tate. 

He’d better! 1!ishop . 

(Puzzled by this speech.) 

Of course he will. And he’ll see I’m right. 



120 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Ned. 

Of course he will. ( All laugh except Bishop and 

Locke.) ^ 

y Bishop. 

“Back to left, half a turn to fifty-three.” 

Locke. 

Yes. Wot next? 

Bishop. 

“Three to right, ending at thirteen.” 

Kitty. 

That’s for good luck, Locke. ( All laugh except 
Bishop and Locke.) 

Locke. 

( Working at dial.) 

Well? ~ 

Bishop. 

(Eagerly.) 

That’s all. Open it. 

Locke. 

(Opens the safe and stands aside.) 

I ain’t a-goin’ to be made fun of no more. 

Ned. 

Oh, just a little more. 

Bishop. 

(Goes and pulls out case.) 

Ha, I’ve got it! You see? Just as I said—just 
as I said! This is superb! ( Waves the case in glee. 

Locke stands morosely at one side.) 

Miss Tate. 

Of course. I knew they were there all along. 
Bishop. 

( Exultant , gives the emeralds to Kitty.) 

Ha, this is splendid! Now I can finish my book. 
Locke, I’m greatly indebted to you. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


121 


Locke. 

I ain’t a-goin’ to be made no fool of. I’m a-goin’. 
(Starts to go.) Rlsirop 

Superb! Now, Locke, you shall give me your full 

statement. T 

Locke. 

(On his way to window .) 

Not much, I won’t! 

Ned. 

( Menacingly.) 

Oh, yes you will. You’ll make any statement the 
bishop wants. You see if he doesn’t, uncle. 

Bishop. 

(About to follow Locke out , looks back and speaks 
in innocent craft.) 

He’s a little obstinate; but I feel certain I can per¬ 
suade him. (He follows Locke out the window.) 


Miss Tate. 

(Who has been puzzling since her last speech.) 
Well, I believe I shall have to apologize to that fat 
constable, after all. I’m a bigger fool than he is. 
(Turns to Mrs. Chadsey.) Matilda, were we dream¬ 
ing when we found the emeralds in the bishop’s over- 

COa ^’ Mrs. Chadsey. 

( Wearily.) 

I don’t know. We must have been. 


Miss Tate. 

( Ruminating .) 

All the same, I really would like to know. 

Kitty. 

(Has been conversing with Ned.) 

Now, Ned. (To Miss Tate.) Aunty. (Goes up 
to her affectionately; holds out emeralds signifi - 



122 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


cantly.) Dear aunty. I’m sure you’d rather I had 
the emeralds than Rafford. ( Turns playfully toward 
Jenny and Rafford.) He’d rather have Jenny, I 
know. 


Sure. 


Rafford. 

(Hugs Jenny.) 
(Jenny giggles.) 


Miss Tate. 

I don’t understand— 

Kitty. 

Come now, aunty, be kind to the poor boy. ( Puts 
her arm about Miss Tate.) 


Miss Tate. 

(Peevishly inquisitive .) 

Kind to whom? What on earth are you driving 
at? You don’t mean Rafford? 


Kitty. 

(Laughs nervously.) 

Yes; Rafford, too. 

Rafford. 

{Laughs explosively.) 

Hah! MissTatb. 

( Exasperated.) 

I’m too tired and nervous to be pestered with 
riddles. If you’ve got anything to tell me, for 
heaven’s sake speak out, before I explode. 

Ned. 

{Apprehensively .) 

You wouldn’t let me have Kitty. You wanted a 
man who could “do things.” I— 

Miss Tate. 

Well, of all the inconsequential twaddle! What 
is it? 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


123 


Rafford. 

{Chuckles; comes down to center , then speaks to 
Ned.) 

Guess I’ll have to squeal on yer, governor, after 

all J XT 

Ned. 

( Groaning.) 

Go ahead. I can’t. 

Miss Tate. 

(Almost speechless with curiosity.) 

Well—will somebody talk sense? 


Rafford. 

(To Miss Tate, quite enjoying it.) 

Well, the governor here, he wants the young lady. 
You gives him the frozen face. So he puts up a job 
with me. I robs the safe. He was to rescue th’ 
sparklers—give ’em back to you—an’ you y thinkin’ 
he was th’ real thing, was to come in at th’ end of 
the rumpus an’ give him your blessing. 


Oh. 


Miss Tate. 

(Beginning to comprehend.) 

Kitty. 

{With half-playful and half-anxious humor.) 
Now, aunty, remember the bishop’s book. Don’t 
spoil that last chapter. 


Miss Tate. 

Humph! Much you care about that. {Turns to 
Ned.) So I was to give you Kitty because you 
frightened me half to death? 

Ned. 

{With comical penitence.) 

Oh, no. Because I saved your life, and your em¬ 
eralds. 



124 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Miss Tate. 

Well, I don’t wonder. I know I’m a fool. But I 
don’t relish being found out. ( Turns upon him in 
high indignation .) But why on earth didn’t you tell 
all this before and stop this outlandish trouble? 

Kitty. 

( Pleadingly .) 

He was afraid. 

Miss Tate. 

Am I such a fright? ( Breaks out in great good 
humor.) Well, if I am, I’m no fit guardian for you. 
(To Kitty.) I give in. (To Ned.) Young man, 
you may have her, if it’s only for your colossal cheek! 

Kitty. 

(Significantly.) 

Then—then—the emeralds are mine? 

Miss Tate. 

Good heavens, yes. Get them out of my sight! 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

(With innocent regret.) 

And the poor bishop’s book is spoiled, after all. 

Miss Tate. 

(In prompt decision.) 

What? Not for worlds! (Sound of car.) 

Mrs. Chadsey. 

(Innocently.) 

But we must tell him. 

Miss Tate. 

( Vigorously.) 

I won’t have him told. 

Bishop, in high glee , enters through window. 



TOO MANY CROOKS 


125 


Bishop. 

Aha! Congratulate me. I’ve won over Locke. 
He’s not a bad fellow. He’ll give me his statement. 
{Laughs.) Ha! ha! To think of his suspecting me, 
and the emeralds in the safe all the while. {After 
rubbing his hands and chuckling a moment , he notices 
some confusion among the others.) But what has 
happened? {Noticing Rafford and Jenny.) Ah! 
Rafford? Jenny? Anything the matter? 

Ned. 

{With quick cunning.) 

Oh, no. Rafford has just got Jenny’s consent to 
marry him. 

Bishop. 

( Genially.) 

Well, well, I’m delighted. {Goes and takes both 
Rafford and Jenny by the hand.) • So we shall have 
you with us all the time. You’ll be very happy. 
{Drops Jenny’s hand and pokes Rafford play¬ 
fully.) Aha, you’re a clever fellow! 


Miss Tate. 

Humph! I should think so. 

Rafford. 

{Grins.) 

I only tries to “do good to them that spitefully 

uses me.” -r, 

Bishop. 

{Sighs and shakes his head.) 

But you couldn’t open my desk for me. 

Rafford. 

Well, I’ll try it again. {Humorously.) Mebbe I 
kin get back enough technical skill for that. 



126 


TOO MANY CROOKS 


Bishop. 

{Innocently pleased.) 

Do you really think so? That’s capital. 

Ned. 

And, uncle, Miss Tate has given Kitty the em¬ 
eralds. {He holds Kitty in his arm significantly .) 


Bishop. 

{Peers at them for a moment , then laughs delight¬ 
edly. ) 

Splendid. {To Kitty.) Come here, my dear. 
{She goes to him. He hisses her and looks at Ned.) 
Ned, you have found a jewel. 


Miss Tate. 

Humph! Trust him. He and Rafford both know 
how to find jewels. Eh, Ned? (Rafford kisses 
Jenny. Ned impulsively goes and kisses Miss Tate. 
Kitty laughs. Miss Tate is confused for a moment , 
then takes it in good part and looks defiantly at 
Kitty.) Well? Why not, I should like to know? 
That isn’t half so impertinent as to steal my— 


Mrs. Chadsey. 
{Interrupts.) 


Sarah! ,, „ 

Miss Tate. 

{Ends her sentence with defiant emphasis.) 

■— to steal my Kitty. {She kisses Kitty and puts 
Kitty’s hand in Ned’s.) 


Bishop. 

{Innocently puzzled.) 
There’s some secret here? 


Miss Tate. 

{Coming to the rescue.) 

Yes, bishop, there is a secret. {Mysteriously.) 
But it belongs to these young people. 




TOO MANY CROOKS 


127 


Bishop. 

(Playfully curious.) 

Can’t I know it? 

Kitty. 

Not until your book is published. ( All laugh but 

Bishop.) ^ 

7 Bishop. 

(In a rapture of innocent glee.) 

Ah! My book! ( Laughs.) Ha-ha! You see? 
You all had to admit I was right. ( Rubbing his 
hands and peering at them in joy.) It’s perfect! 
Premonitions—dreams—coincidence ! All fit in to¬ 
gether. Aha! What a chapter I’ll write for the 
critics! 


Curtain. 



Putting It Over 

BY 

Larry E. Johnson 


A DRAMATIC COMEDY, in 3 acts; 5 males, 3 fe¬ 
males. Time, 214 hours. Scenes: 2 interiors. 


CHARACTERS. 


Tom Browne... I double role I 
Jack Stewart... ) 1 

Colonel Lane. 

Lannon . 

Bolton .... 

Daintry. 

Eva Lou. 

Torrence .. 

Mrs. Lane-Turner. 


....The Chief Engineer 
. .Who Drew the Plans 
..A Heavy Stockholder 

.A Contractor 

.Browne’s Valet 

.Foreman at the Dam 
The Colonel’s Daughter 

.Lannon’s Daughter 

..Eva Lou’s Aunt Jule 


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